Merin closes his eyes, letting his awareness sink into the depths of his cultivation.
The war has left its scars, but also countless gains.
With the endless supply of resources earned through blood and merit, his cultivation now stands at the peak of the Dao Space Realm.
Within his illusion space, five sources gleam with varying strength.
The water source has grown vast, seventy-five per cent complete, surging like a boundless tide.
The fire source burns with restless hunger, forty-five per cent complete, its flame flickering dangerously against the ocean.
Earth, metal, and wood stand steadier but far from whole—each around thirty per cent, faint and still growing.
Merin exhales slowly.
He does not intend to rush into the Tao Master Realm.
Not until every source is complete.
If he wishes to one day claim the heavenly throne, there can be no shortcuts.
To remain invisible to the heavens themselves, each realm must be pushed to the very edge of its limits.
In the Tao Master Realm, ten sources are the ceiling.
One is the foundation of cultivation itself.
The five of the Five Element Sutra make six.
With the four from the Four Elephant Sutra, he will complete the ten, pushing Dao Space to its absolute limit.
And that is only the first step.
The second will be to form the cycle, weaving each source into his cultivation source, binding them into a single unbroken chain.
The third will be the most difficult—shaping a core magic power, born of all sources together, a power that will not fade, but follow him through every realm until Supreme.
Merin opens his eyes and stands, the weight of his resolve heavy but steady.
He steps out of his chamber.
The fortress hums with joy.
Laughter and shouts echo across the walls.
Today marks the last day.
Tomorrow, the ten chosen will depart for the Alliance headquarters on the Shenyuan Continent.
From there, they will enter the Supreme Battlefield Realm.
As Merin walks back toward his residence, the jubilant atmosphere flowing around him, his gaze shifts.
A figure stands waiting by the entrance.
Shui Yinhai.
Her presence is calm, her gaze steady, but her waiting is not unexpected.
They have fought together for twenty years, their lives crossing blades and fire in countless battles.
For her to wait at his door feels natural, almost inevitable.
Merin meets her eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Shui Yinhai greets him with a soft nod, her gaze lingering longer than usual.
"I am leaving tonight for the Alliance headquarters," she says, calm but carrying something deeper.
Merin pauses a step away, reading her expression as easily as flowing water.
"In such a hurry," he answers, "did something happen?"
Shui Yinhai exhales faintly, her eyes lifting toward the dusk-stained sky above the fortress.
"I don't know, an elder informed me I must depart tonight," she says.
Merin frowns, unsettled—no summons has come to him from the elders of Purple Jade Sect.
"Then have a safe journey," he says.
She inclines her head.
"Thank you. I will be waiting for you."
Merin's eyes narrow faintly, but a rare warmth flickers within them.
"Good," he replies.
"Good," she echoes, her lips curving slightly.
"I never imagined twenty years ago that I would be standing here, ready to step into the Supreme Battlefield with you."
Merin lets silence stretch, not heavy, but steady—words would only cheapen what they share.
Shui Yinhai's voice softens as she breaks it.
"Yu Feng, in those battles… I always knew you would be the one at the front. But I also knew you would never let me fall."
Merin lowers his gaze briefly, then raises it again with calm certainty.
"I don't let allies fall," he says.
Her smile deepens, yet she shakes her head.
"Not just allies."
Merin doesn't answer, but silence itself speaks for him.
The air between them thickens with unspoken trust, carved by two decades of survival.
At last, Shui Yinhai straightens.
"Rest tonight," she says.
"Tomorrow, we walk into a greater battlefield."
Merin gives a slight nod, then turns toward his door.
"Tomorrow," he echoes.
Tomorrow dawns, and Shui Yinhai finds herself among nine others on the alliance platform, each accompanied by their sect masters and elders.
Confusion knots in her chest until the announcement comes: these ten are the chosen to enter the Supreme Battlefield Realm.
Her heart drops when she learns the Purple Jade Sect's representative is Jun Zhenhai — not Yu Feng.
Rage flares hot and sharp, and she demands of the sect masters and elders, "Where is Yu Feng? He tops the merit list — why is he not present?"
Her sect master rebukes her coldly, voice slicing the air, and before she can press further, a pressure slams into her from every side as the assembled elders bow low to a newcomer stepping forward.
The newcomer's presence silences the platform: Saint Jun Tian.
Understanding snaps into place like a broken seal — a Saint has been born in the Jun family, and Yu Feng's hard-won quota has been seized and handed to Jun Zhenhai.
"You are making a grave mistake, suppressing the most promising among them," Shui cries, her voice raw with betrayal.
The Saint's expression is flat as steel.
"That is not your concern," he says, and then, without more parley, he opens the rift to the Supreme Battlefield Realm.
Shui feels the bitter truth — she only stands here because Yu Feng opened the path, and she has no right to step forward while he is denied — yet she sees now that justice for him will not come if she remains in Tao Space Realm.
With a single, hard breath, she steps through the rift and the portal seals behind her.
Outside, the Saint's voice cuts through the stunned silence: "Where is Yu Feng?"
The Purple Jade Sect leader stammers, "I have sent men to capture him."
Jun Tian's eyes flash cruelly.
"No need to keep him alive — kill him and blame the Black Fire Race."
The sect leader nods, pale and shaking.
At that moment, an elder of Purple Jade streaks toward the platform, breathless, and falls to one knee.
The Saint demands the news, and the elder chokes it out: the three elders sent to seize Yu Feng — their soul lights have vanished.
Silence detonates across the crowd; those three elders are Tao Master Realm veterans, and if Yu Feng slew them, his talent shatters every reckoning they had made.
All eyes swing to Jun Tian, the architect of this betrayal, and he only says, "I will take care of it," before rising and flying off, vanishing from sight.
A few hours earlier, Merin flew steadily toward the alliance headquarters, three elders of the Purple Jade Sect escorting him at his sides.
The wind parts in silence, but beneath the calm flow of air, Merin's spiritual sense stirs — sharpened by his advancement to the third stage of spirit cultivation.
The faint, bitter taste of malice brushes his awareness, crawling from the three figures around him.
His eyes narrow, and though he gives no sign, he prepares.
Without warning, killing intent erupts. The three elders strike as one, their combined fields pressing down like mountains.
Merin's body shakes under the weight, his field straining. Alone against three, each a Tao Master Realm cultivator, he staggers back at a disadvantage.
But his spirit cultivation flares, threads of light etching in the air as he draws rune after rune, weaving them into shifting patterns.
Formation lines snap together, glowing symbols encircle his body, and the pressure against him falters.
Step by step, he pushes back, the formations binding and redirecting the elders' force until his own field begins to swallow theirs.
Their faces twist in disbelief as chains of light surge from the formations, snapping around them and sealing their cultivation.
Frozen in his grasp, they thrash uselessly.
Merin's gaze is cold as he interrogates them, voice cutting like steel.
Their resistance lasts only moments before truth spills out — the entire alliance has betrayed him, casting aside his merit because the Jun family birthed a Saint.
The words strike harder than their blades.
Silence weighs, then Merin's hand lifts. Black light flashes, and one by one, their bodies collapse as their souls shatter, leaving only empty husks drifting in the sky.
He does not linger.
From their confessions, he grasps the method of the fourth stage of spirit cultivation — sealing himself completely.
With swift precision, he draws a formation upon his own flesh, folding his breath, his aura, every trace of his presence into stillness.
In the next instant, his figure blurs and shoots away, streaking through the clouds with ruthless speed, every thought bent on distance — to be far beyond reach before the Saint turns his gaze to trace him.
Jun Tian descends upon the battlefield, his robes snapping in the wind, gaze settling on the three lifeless bodies sprawled in the blood-soaked sky.
The corpses of the Purple Jade Sect elders fell below on the ground and broken, their souls extinguished beyond return.
Jun Tian kneels slightly, palm pressing against the void, reaching out with his Saintly perception to trace Yu Feng's aura.
But nothing.
The space feels empty, scrubbed clean of presence, not even the faintest wisp left behind.
Jun Tian's frown deepens, unease coiling in his chest.
Impossible, he thinks. Unless another Saint cloaks him.
The thought stirs concern sharp enough to bite.
With a flick of his sleeve, he sends a message through the void, a Saint's transmission that tears across space instantly.
Moments later, the air ripples, and an old man's figure forms from pure radiance — another Saint, his ally, appearing as a dignified elder whose presence makes the heavens themselves bow.
Jun Tian inclines his head slightly, wasting no time.
"He has vanished," he says, tone heavy. "His aura is gone. If another Saint shields him—"
The old man cuts him off, his own frown stern.
"When we cast Yu Feng aside, every Saint agreed. None of us from the human race would move to protect him."
Jun Tian's eyes narrow. "Then who?"
"Let me see," the old Saint murmurs, his pupils glinting with ancient power.
He raises a hand, and the void distorts. Threads of light spool outward, weaving into rippling circles, the fabric of time itself bending under his core magic power — 'Time Retrospective'.
The battlefield rewinds. Blood retreats into wounds, formations unravel, strikes return to the hands that dealt them.
The past plays before their eyes.
They watch Yu Feng sensing betrayal before it struck.
They watch him clash against three Tao Masters, runes spiralling, formations blooming.
They watch him overturn his disadvantage, sealing the three with ruthless precision before shattering their lives.
And then, the image of Yu Feng's back as he seals his aura and disappears into the horizon.
The elder releases the technique, and time flows forward again.
His eyes harden, his voice grave.
"We are in trouble. Yu Feng's Tao… it has already touched the realm of a Tao King."
Jun Tian's face turns rigid, the weight of those words heavy.
"If he climbs further, if his Taoism reaches the level of Saint—" His jaw tightens. "It will be too late. We must kill him before that day comes."
The old Saint nods, his aura sharp as a blade.
Together, the two Saints turn, their figures blurring into the void as they streak toward the direction Yu Feng fled, their killing intent stretching across heaven and earth.