A gentle breeze stirred the air.

  The Origin Lake hovered above North Luo Lake, its dense primal essence pulsing with mysterious ripples.

  Lu sat enthroned on the Thousand-Blade Chair, one hand propping his chin, the other idly caressing a jade-smooth ring.

  The sudden birth of a spatial ring had blindsided even him. He’d only meant to tinker with a teleportation array—yet stumbled into forging a storage artifact instead.

  A happy accident.

  Storage artifacts were priceless. No ordinary spirit tool could match their convenience or hidden value.

  And the heart of any storage ring? Space.

  For a first attempt, Lu’s arrays were flawless in pattern yet fragile in stability. The pocket inside measured a modest thirty square feet—barely a small bedroom.

  Hardly room for a dragon’s hoard.

  But space could be expanded, day by day, until the ring swallowed mountains.

  Lu had even sealed his Bone Nether Flame inside. The ring now thrummed with newborn awareness.

  “Let’s call you… the Nether Profound Ring.”

  “System, grade it as a spirit tool.”

  A panel blossomed across his vision.

  > Nether Profound Ring: Mid-grade Profound-tier

  > Functions: Stores inanimate objects · Houses spirits · Expandable void · Upgradable…

  Mid-grade Profound. The system didn’t stint.

  Lu had considered dropping the ring into the Nine Hells Secret Realm as rare loot.

  He shelved the thought.

  Even top Tianyuan powers lacked storage tools. One public explosion of such a treasure would spark continent-wide carnage. Nascent Soul tyrants would tear the earth apart to claim it.

  Better to wait until the Five Phoenixes world leveled up. For now, the ring stayed on his thumb.

  He drew a slow breath, attention sliding from the ring into the whirlpool of his soul.

  The stele stood at the vortex’s heart, blazing like a captive star.

  “Third-sequence Intent…”

  Lu’s eyes glinted.

  Overlord’s Unyielding Intent, fused with Lu’s own Soul-Shatter Intent—what would emerge?

  Before, Soul-Shatter had swallowed every lesser Intent whole. But Unyielding outranked it. The fusion would birth something new.

  Lu sank deeper. The stele’s runes shifted.

  > Lu · Third-sequence · Annihilation Intent

  His brow furrowed.

  Annihilation?

  Soul-Shatter plus Unyielding equals Annihilation?

  Why?

  On White Jade Capital’s tower, Lu closed his eyes.

  Overlord had only just stepped into Heaven Lock.

  Lu could fold Du Longyang like paper.

  Same sequence, worlds-apart power.

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  Boom!

  Little Yinglong, frolicking in the Origin Lake, froze. Dread crawled up his spine.

  He poked his head above water and gaped at the sky.

  Black clouds boiled. Violet lightning stitched the heavens, reeking of utter ruin.

  The little dragon went rigid.

  Lu sensed the terror, exhaled, and let the Intent dissolve.

  Annihilation was strong—stronger than fourth-sequence—but dense with secrets. Mastering it would demand sweat and time.

  Yet the upgrade sharpened his divine sense. Soul mass unchanged, soul quality transformed.

  Best of all: Annihilation Intent accelerated his absorption of the Tianyuan essence he’d fused.

  Lu glanced at the shivering dragonling and sighed.

  He pinched the scruff of its neck, tossed it skyward.

  The Dragon Gate yawned wide. Yinglong tumbled through like a rubber ball.

  Beyond the gate, a graceful silhouette waited atop a peak. She dipped her head.

  “Train him properly,” Lu called. “No more playtime.”

  Zhu Long’s lashes fluttered; dimples bloomed.

  Little Yinglong landed beside Big Sister and instantly felt the temperature plunge.

  …

  North County, Great Xuan.

  Tan Taixuan stood alone on a mountain crest, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the lantern-lit Xuan Academy below.

  No guards. He had sent them away.

  Mo Beike was lecturing inside.

  The future of Great Xuan felt foggy.

  Immortal encounters slipped through his fingers, yet he refused despair. He’d handed the Dao Tear to Mo Ju.

  He trusted Mo Ju completely—never once doubted the man’s loyalty. Employ the worthy, suspect no one.

  He knew Mo Ju was the Teacher’s hidden piece.

  He simply didn’t care. He admired the Teacher. Planting a mole so deep it became a confidant? That deserved respect.

  Tan Taixuan believed Mo Ju would bleed for Great Xuan’s tomorrow.

  Wind teased his robes. Lanterns glowed. Children’s voices drifted upward—bright, eager, alive.

  The future.

  Then the night shivered.

  Tan Taixuan’s head snapped south.

  Gold mist surged across the dark, a living tide.

  Inside the academy, Mo Beike’s heavy lids lifted. Wrinkles rearranged into a grin.

  Tan Taixuan’s cheek twitched.

  “Dynastic Dragon Qi?”

  Aura exploded from his spine—imperial, absolute.

  The golden tide answered, roaring down to merge with his own.

  Nine zhang of dragon qi reared behind him, tail lashing the sky.

  “Nine zhang… imperial dragon qi!”

  Shock, then wonder.

  “What happened to Overlord? Why did the dragon qi abandon him?”

  Something seismic.

  Tan Taixuan ducked into his wooden hut, lifted the broken Emperor Dragon Seal.

  The jagged scar across its face… was knitting itself whole. New jade grew from thin air, seamless, mythical.

  He stumbled outside, cradling the seal, and sat beneath the paling sky.

  A ribbon of dawn-purple qi drifted from the east, slipped into the seal.

  His soul ignited.

  Boom!

  Visions flooded:

  Farmers bent over rice. Soldiers on frostbitten walls. Scholars chanting under lamps.

  Then the flip side—refugees, drowning children, drought-cracked lips.

  His skull threatened to burst.

  Xuanwu Guards streaked through the night, drawn by the pressure.

  Mo Beike hobbled uphill on his bamboo staff.

  Tan Taixuan sat radiant. A five-clawed golden dragon coiled behind him, gazing down with sorrowful mercy.

  The guards dropped to their knees, unable to draw nearer.

  Mo Beike laughed until tears shone. He flung away his staff, robes flapping, and kowtowed.

  “Long live Your Majesty.”

  Two puzzled guards followed suit.

  From this dawn forward, Tan Taixuan was no longer merely king.

  He was Emperor of Mortals.

  …

  Overlord had renounced the throne.

  He severed his dragon qi without hesitation and chose the lonely path of cultivation.

  Losing the qi meant losing the mandate.

  He felt no regret.

  Dynastic qi was a chain. An emperor must carry every commoner’s ache. How could a heart split between ten thousand sorrows and the Dao ever climb the summit?

  So he cut the chain.

  Wolong Ridge Secret Realm.

  Overlord exhaled. Confidence flooded back into his face.

  He sat before the stele, polishing his Intent.

  Bones cracked like war drums.

  Hours later he rose, strode out, and stood alone beneath the tribulation clouds.

  Word spread. Crowds gathered at a safe distance.

  This tribulation was spectacle.

  Overlord reclaimed his old swagger.

  Heaven Lock realm, yet he met lightning bare-chested.

  First bolt—blood sprayed, flesh split.

  Wounds sealed in heartbeats. He flipped the heavens the middle finger.

  Second bolt—he still refused spirit qi, taking it on muscle and bone.

  The ground cratered. Overlord stood in the pit, blood dripping, grinning.

  Three bolts, all on raw meat.

  Onlookers’ jaws dropped.

  Overlord had become a monster.

  On the hillside, Liu Yuanhao’s face darkened.

  Fists clenched until knuckles popped.

  No chance left.

  A Heaven Lock Overlord was despair incarnate. Liu Yuanhao lingered in Body Storage—how could he compete?

  Black Dragon Cult’s schemes crumbled to dust.

  Pressure crushed his chest.

  He turned, fled to the Nine Hells gate, and stepped into the First Prison.

  He would grow stronger.

  His Intent gave him an edge. He would surpass them all.

  Overlord bathed in origin feedback, fire tempering his spine.

  Time dripped.

  His aura swelled like a waking volcano.

  Du Longyang and the Empress watched briefly, then returned to their own steles.

  Third-sequence was merely the seed. They meant to force the bloom.

  …

  First Prison Gate.

  Kong Nanfei materialized outside Qin Guang City.

  The grim jailer stared down, iron collar floating.

  “Back again.”

  Kong Nanfei flashed a roguish grin, flicked his tattered robes, crooked a finger.

  Ten heartbeats later the grin was gone.

  Soul lashes flayed him—one after another—trying to rip spirit from flesh.

  Agony refined him. His golden core condensed; divine sense sharpened.

  “Eighty-nine!”

  “Ninety!”

  The jailer’s stone face twitched.

  At ninety-nine, Kong Nanfei’s eyes rolled white.

  Still he endured.

  One hundredth lash—

  The world flipped. Ice water closed over his head.