Inside the cultivation room, the air hums with deep, rhythmic power.
Four elemental forces—earth, water, wind, and fire—circle around Jingxuan like living streams of light, each bending to his will. From their ceaseless rotation, threads of white and black energy peel away—two opposing wisps, one bright as purity, the other dark as void.
They intertwine briefly before plunging into Jingxuan's chest, vanishing into his body.
The vision fades. The elements still.
Jingxuan opens his eyes. A faint ripple crosses his gaze, and he murmurs, his voice low, certain—
"He really dares to come."
Through the quiet of the room, he senses it—a familiar energy, proud and defiant, drawing closer from the eastern horizon. Wenrui.
Without hesitation, Jingxuan disperses into a swirl of energy. The cultivation room empties, leaving behind only the echo of his presence.
A breath later, he reappears outside—standing atop the Town's wall, wind brushing against his robes.
His eyes narrow, fixed on the distant east where the faint pulse of Wenrui's aura flickers like a challenge carried by the wind.
But before the confrontation comes, the sky to the west shifts. A crimson glow blooms across the clouds, spreading fast—like blood spilling through the heavens. The light burns brighter, moving toward the town.
Below, the city stirs. Panic ripples through the streets. Doors slam. Lanterns extinguish. Citizens hurry into their homes, pulling children inside and sealing the shutters.
Along the walls, warlocks and soldiers rush into position, their formations forming under shouted orders. Armour gleams, sigils flare to life, the scent of fear and iron filling the cold air.
Amid the growing tension, a shadow slips free of the estate's sealed gates. The commotion has broken the restrictions—and Li Niyue, cloaked in haste, steps onto the wall beside Jingxuan.
She looks toward the burning horizon, her voice edged with unease.
"What happened?" she asks.
Jingxuan doesn't answer immediately. His gaze shifts eastward, beyond the haze, beyond the mountains—where he can see it clearly even from kilometres away.
A figure walking through the barren plain.
Wenrui.
But not as he once was. His body glows with crimson runes, veins bulging and pulsing beneath his skin like molten threads.
His eyes burn the same colour—feral, consuming—and from every pore, crimson energy leaks in wild, uncontrolled waves that warp the air around him.
Each step he takes leaves scorched impressions in the ground, as if the world itself recoils from him.
Jingxuan's spirit sweeps outward like a tide, scanning the land around Wenrui.
He finds Warlocks trailing behind him at a distance—Great Warlocks, by their aura—but their movements are cautious, wary.
Outside the Divine Domain, more Great Warlocks begin to appear one by one, circling like vultures waiting for the storm to break.
But what he doesn't sense—the ones who should have been leading this siege—are the Divine cultivators. Their absence strikes him immediately.
Then he remembers.
Last night.
The method he gave—the Divine Seal Creation technique.
A faint realisation crosses his face.
So that's it.
All the divine cultivators must be at the heart of the Divine Domain right now, consumed by the process of forming their seals.
The pursuit of ascension has outweighed everything else—even the threat of the Ancient Demon.
Jingxuan exhales softly. "Wenrui is coming."
Li Niyue's eyes widen, her breath catching. "Wenrui…?"
Behind her, Li Na stares toward the horizon where the crimson haze grows. "That… that doesn't look like Wenrui. It looks like a weird creature!"
Jingxuan's tone is calm, yet grave.
"He's losing control. The Ancient Demon's power inside him is overflowing."
Without another word, he rises into the air, robes stirring in the turbulent wind, and flies out toward the east—the air trembles in his wake.
He knows he cannot allow the battle to reach Ding Town.
If they fight there, the entire region will be reduced to ruin.
Far ahead, Wenrui halts. He senses Jingxuan's approach and stands waiting—his crimson aura flaring like a dying star.
Jingxuan lands softly on the ashen desert, the wind carrying the faint scent of dust and blood.
The two men face each other across the silent expanse—one cloaked in shadow and calm, the other wrapped in the storm of his own unravelling power.
Jingxuan's eyes narrow as he observes Wenrui closely. Within that madness, he can still feel the strain of Wenrui's will—fierce, desperate, holding on with everything he has. One slip, and the Ancient Demon will consume him completely.
He can tell, too, that Wenrui's fusion with heaven and earth has reached a terrifying level. If his will holds, there's a slim chance he could win this inner war.
But with the Ancient Demon being a God-stage being—a true child of the world itself—that chance is faint, a flicker in the storm.
And if Jingxuan fights him here and now, he knows it will only hasten Wenrui's collapse.
He studies him one last time, a faint glimmer of pity crossing his usually cold eyes.
"You shouldn't have come," Jingxuan says quietly.
Wenrui's crimson eyes lock onto him, wild and feral, burning with the madness he's barely holding back. His voice is guttural, broken between rage and defiance.
"I have come."
Jingxuan exhales slowly, his expression unreadable.
"So you've come," he says, his tone calm, almost cold. "Then let's see your strength."
The moment the words fall, Wenrui's restraint snaps.
A roar tears through the sky—raw, violent, echoing across the barren plain. His body blurs into a crimson streak, and before the echo fades, he's already in front of Jingxuan.
A silver energy surges around his fist, entwined with blood-red veins that pulse like molten lightning. The punch descends—blinding, destructive.
Jingxuan moves at the last instant. His hand rises, calm, precise—
and catches the blow.
The impact splits the air. A shockwave ripples outward, flattening the sand, tearing the clouds.
Wenrui doesn't pause. He follows with another strike, then a kick, then a barrage—each movement fueled by chaotic power, each blow heavy enough to crack mountains.
Jingxuan doesn't counter. He stands his ground, blocking each attack, his body unyielding as stone. The Immortal Demon Body hums faintly beneath his skin, the elemental runes glowing dimly with every collision.
Wenrui's power rages like a storm, but his strikes fail to press Jingxuan back. The air screams with force, yet Jingxuan's stance remains firm, his breathing steady, his eyes cold and unwavering.
"Is this all?" Jingxuan asks softly, his tone like a blade sliding free of its sheath.
"Is this the extent of your strength?"
Wenrui's roar answers him—a sound that no longer belongs to a man.
His muscles swell, veins splitting open to reveal silver light beneath. The crimson energy leaking from his body intensifies, hissing as it eats at the ground—the very air trembles around him.
Then, with a sound like bones snapping and flesh reshaping, his body expands, sinew and blood twisting under the strain. Silver light floods his form, wrapped by veins of red fire.
In seconds, Wenrui becomes a small giant—a being of flesh and chaos, silver energy flaring violently, crimson mist pouring from his skin like steam.
The ground cracks under his step. His aura darkens the sky.
And for the first time, Jingxuan steps back.
The ground shudders beneath his feet as Wenrui's massive form presses forward, each blow heavier than the last, each movement tearing through the desert air. His fists are meteors—every strike thunderous, warping the space around them. Jingxuan's defence begins to bend under the onslaught. The crimson giant's power grows wilder, unrestrained, a fusion of man and monster.
The desert becomes a storm of dust and shockwaves. Every collision splits the horizon with light.
On the distant ridge, soldiers, warlocks, and refugees from Ding Town watch with wide eyes. Their whispers ripple like wind through dry grass.
"Is Wenrui… winning?" someone mutters.
"Impossible. Lord Jingxuan can't lose."
"But look—he's being pushed back!"
Among them, Li Niyue stands silent. Her heart clenches as her gaze flicks between the two.
Her husband in this life—cold, resolute, untouchable.
Her lover from the past—lost, devoured by the power she once betrayed.
Her hands tremble at her sides. She doesn't know who she wants to prevail.
Below, Wenrui's assault halts. His breaths are harsh, fogging the air crimson. He raises his hand, gathering the raging silver and red energy into his fingertip until it pulses like a small sun.
The light sharpens, and he points directly at Jingxuan.
A soundless instant—
then the world explodes.
The silver beam tears through the air, striking Jingxuan squarely. The blast blooms into a devastating explosion, waves of searing light and force rolling across the wasteland. The shockwave rips the clouds apart, and the grey sand lifts like a tide, blotting out the battlefield.
The spectators shield their eyes. Some cry out—
"Lord Jingxuan!"
"Master!"
Li Niyue's lips part, her voice lost beneath the roaring wind.
When the storm finally fades, the desert is scarred—a crater yawning where the beam struck.
At its centre, Jingxuan still stands.
His robes ripple in the settling dust, untouched. Around him glows a faint, grey energy shield, thick and calm as stone, encasing him like the will of the earth itself.
He lowers his gaze, his expression unreadable.
Then he whispers, voice low and steady—
"Earth Crush."
The ground trembles.
From the sand around Wenrui, colossal stone palms erupt, fingers closing like the jaws of the world.
They rise, massive and unyielding, and slam inward from every direction—intent on crushing the crimson giant where he stands.
The ground groans under the weight of the conjured earth. Wenrui roars, a sound that tears the sky open, instinct flaring even in his half-lost mind. His body blurs, straining to leap free, but the moment he moves, he feels it—a crushing gravity pressing down from all sides, pinning him in place.
No escape.
His crimson eyes blaze wider, veins splitting further under the surge of chaotic energy. A guttural snarl rips through his throat as he slams his palms together, summoning a silver-crimson dome of energy around his body.
The stone palms fall.
They collide with deafening force—earth against divinity, mass against chaos. The desert shatters, sand and gravel exploding outward like a storm. The shockwave travels for miles, flattening dunes, cracking stone.
For a moment, it seems as though Wenrui is buried, crushed beneath the weight of the world.
But then—
A low, guttural sound escapes the dust, rising to a full, monstrous roar.
Inside the collapsing prison, Wenrui's energy surges madly. His body swells, growing larger, his flesh distorting and veins glowing molten red. The pressure from his expanding energy tears through the earth's grip.
The stone palms crumble, exploding into fragments.
Massive shards of rock scatter across the desert as Wenrui bursts free, his body now towering and monstrous, steam pouring from him like smoke from a furnace. His breath comes in heavy bursts, his crimson eyes glowing brighter than ever.
He stares at Jingxuan—rage, pain, and instinct burning in his gaze.
Jingxuan's lips curve slightly. "Thousand Silent Kill."
At once, the air around them shifts.
The wind riots, turning violent and invisible, condense into countless thin, razor-edged blades. They slice forward in silence—unseen, unheard.
The first cut rends Wenrui's shoulder. The next flays open his chest. Then a thousand more follow, faster than sound, faster than breath.
In the span of a heartbeat, Wenrui's flesh is torn apart—skin shredded, muscles severed, blood scattering in crimson arcs. His roars turn to gasps, his body breaking under the storm.
When the wind stills, what remains of Wenrui is no longer flesh—only bones gleaming silver-white, still pulsing faintly with crimson light.
He collapses with a heavy crash, a skeletal ruin in the sand. If not for the dim aura still flickering around him, the onlookers would think him dead.
On the town walls, murmurs rise—shocked, uncertain, afraid.
"It's over…"
"Lord Jingxuan won."
"The reversal was too fast—he turned the battle in an instant!"
Among the court's Warlocks, one whispers, "We should seal him now, while he's weak."
But before any move, Jingxuan's cold gaze sweeps toward them.
That single glance freezes them in place. The air turns heavy. None dares to breathe, let alone act.
In the silence, only the faint wind hums—and the soft rattle of Wenrui's remaining bones.
Then, something shifts.
A faint pulse ripples through the air, low and rhythmic—like the echo of a second heartbeat. The crimson light flickering within Wenrui's bones deepens, thickening into molten lines. The scattered silver veins across his remains begin to move, writhing like living metal.
The bones tremble. Then—crack.
A pulse of power bursts outward.
The bones draw together, joints reforming, splinters mending. The little shreds of flesh still clinging to him quiver, then begin to spread, stretching, knitting, reforming muscle and skin. The process is silent but grotesque—like time reversing, like a corpse being rewound to life.
Gasps ripple among the onlookers as Wenrui's shape slowly reforms.
In moments, the monstrous frame shrinks, the twisted veins recede, and before their eyes—the man returns.
Wenrui stands reborn, body whole, bloodless, his aura steady and cold. The crimson glow in his eyes dims, shifting into something deeper, quieter—like a void holding countless storms beneath its calm surface.
He lifts himself, slow but sure, until he stands tall again on the fractured desert ground.
The wind coils around him, tugging at his tattered robes. He stares at Jingxuan—no fury now, no madness, only a gaze that feels ancient, weighty, and aware.
Jingxuan narrows his eyes slightly, studying the one before him. He can feel it—the presence within has changed. The will in that body isn't the same as before.
He exhales softly, his voice calm and sharp as cut jade.
"What should I call you?"
The figure before him lifts his head, and the voice that answers is not Wenrui's—it carries the depth of ages, heavy and cold.
"I am Kratos."
The words roll through the air like thunder under the earth.
A collective gasp spreads among the onlookers. Fear floods their faces—some instinctively take a step back, others tremble in disbelief. Even the Great Warlocks hidden within the distant mist exchange uneasy, knowing glances.
Kratos.
The God of War.
A being whose name once reshaped empires.
Jingxuan's eyes narrow, calmly studying him. He feels the spirit pressure emanating from within Wenrui's body—refined, ancient, vast—but incomplete.
"You don't want to resurrect by taking over Zhang Wenrui's body," Jingxuan says evenly.
Kratos' voice rumbles low, steady. "His body is the last resort for my resurrection."
The crowd listens in breathless silence, half-terrified, half-awed. The stories said an Ancient Demon could tear mountains apart, yet here stands Jingxuan—speaking to one as if to an equal.
A faint smile touches Jingxuan's lips.
"Should we continue fighting?"
Kratos flexes his hands, feeling the borrowed body adapt to his will. "I know I am not your opponent," he admits, voice like grinding stone, "but I still wish to fight you."
Jingxuan nods once. "Then let's fight."
The onlookers instinctively retreat, their hearts pounding. The question burns through their minds—
Why does a God-stage being say he's not Jingxuan's equal?
Before they can think further, Kratos moves.
"Blood Needle."
The ground around him stains red as blood energy erupts from his body, swirling into a vast sea that churns with killing intent. From its depths rise countless crimson needles, sharp enough to pierce air itself, shooting toward Jingxuan like rain from a broken sky.
Jingxuan lifts his gaze, murmuring one word—
"Inferno."
Fire answers his call.
A sea of flame bursts outward, roaring across the battlefield. The air warps under the heat as blazing waves crash into the storm of blood needles, incinerating them one by one. The explosion paints the horizon gold and red.
But Kratos does not pause. His hand twists into a clawed sign.
"Blood Sharks."
The bloody sea churns again—shaping into massive, translucent sharks made of living blood. They surge through the inferno, tearing through fire as if devouring it, their fangs dripping molten crimson.
Jingxuan's expression remains tranquil.
"Stone Snake."
The desert trembles. From beneath the molten sand, serpents of stone rise—towering, coiling, hissing. Their scales glimmer with runes as they twist around the blood sharks, constricting with the weight of mountains.
The two forces collide—stone and blood, fire and shadow—each struggling to devour the other.
The heavens blaze red. The ground splits open.
Fire, wind, water, and earth swirl around Jingxuan like four eternal dragons, while rivers of blood coil around Kratos, each drop humming with the memory of wars lost and won.
Jingxuan's hand rises, and the elements answer.
"Stone Spear. Water Edge. Fire Wave. Wind Slash."
From the earth, spears erupt, piercing skyward. Streams of compressed water cut through the air like silver blades, colliding with crimson barriers conjured by Kratos.
Firestorms spiral, devouring the wind, while gales sharpen and scream, slicing through the ground.
Kratos raises his arm, his aura bursting outward like a crimson tide.
"War Domain. Blood Surge. Battle Trance."
The desert shakes. Blood-red armour manifests around him, shimmering with the Law of Blood and the Law of War.
His mere presence bends the air, his aura expanding until the battlefield itself trembles under the will of a God.
Every clash between them twists the landscape.
Mountains rise and crumble.
The desert melts to glass and reforms again.
As they fight, their spells escalate—
low-level arts collapsing into mid-tier techniques,
mid-tier transforming into high-tier laws,
and those, in turn, unravelling the very fabric of the world.
Lightning of raw law arcs through the void, searing the sky. The scent of burning existence fills the air as reality itself begins to scar—permanent rifts carved by the collision of two domains.
Jingxuan's eyes glow—one white, one black—as the elements spin faster around him, forming a halo of shifting chaos.
His voice lowers, almost a whisper.
"Destruction Wheel."
The four elements—earth, fire, water, and wind—collapse into a single, spinning circle. A wheel of pure annihilation forms behind him, its edges devouring light, its core radiating an eternal storm.
As it turns out, the world's colours drain away, leaving only the pulse of destruction.
Kratos lifts his hand, lips curling in a grim smile.
"Blood War Axe."
From the crimson sea behind him, a colossal ancient axe emerges—its blade engraved with forgotten runes of slaughter.
The weapon hums with the sound of countless wars, its presence alone warping the laws around it.
The axe rises, and the Destruction Wheel spins.
The moment they collide, the world screams.
A blinding white light floods the desert, consuming sight, sound, and air.
The explosion that follows rattles space itself, shattering the ground for miles.
Waves of energy tear through heaven and earth, flattening dunes, bending light, shaking the boundaries of reality.
Onlookers cry out, shielding their eyes. The sky itself seems to split, stars flashing through the rift before vanishing behind the light.
Then, silence.
When the radiance fades, all that remains is a pit—so vast its bottom cannot be seen.
The battlefield is gone. The horizon erased.
On one side of the endless pit, Jingxuan stands, robes torn, face calm, a faint glow still circling him.
On the other side—
Wenrui is gone.