Thank you all for your continued support and for every Power Stone you've given to this book. Each one truly helps motivate me and keeps Ye Caiqian's journey moving forward.
This week, I'd like to try something new and make things a bit more fun. Let's set a small goal together — if the novel reaches 200 Power Stones this week, I'll release an extra chapter as a bonus. Consider it a little challenge for all of us!
I'm really grateful for the comments, encouragement, and patience you've shown so far. It means a lot to know that readers are enjoying the story and continuing to follow the MC's path.
For those who are interested in reading ahead, there are currently 6 advance chapters available on my Patreon, posted ahead of the Webnovel release schedule. Your support there directly helps me continue writing and updating consistently.
Once again, thank you for being part of this journey. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I look forward to continuing this adventure with you all.
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When the duties were assigned, no one lingered.
This was not a time for ceremony, discussion, or reflection.
This was a time for work.
One by one, the God Kings departed from the center of the Douluo Divine Realm, tearing open space and vanishing into fractured regions of heaven. They did not go alone. Lesser gods—those who had survived the Divine War, those whose authorities were still intact—were gathered and dispatched alongside them.
Some went to stabilize broken domains.
Some went to purge lingering killing intent.
Some went to patch spatial rifts that bled void energy into reality.
The Divine Realm had become a vast construction site of laws and authority.
And for the first time in its history, it was being repaired not by instinct or natural evolution—but by deliberate effort.
I watched them go.
Then I turned inward.
My task was different.
While others repaired the heavens, I needed to prepare the future.
The Divine Realm could not rely solely on restoration. It needed new blood—new gods, new authorities, new pillars to replace what had been lost.
And for that, I already had tools prepared long ago.
Systems.
I had spread them across the lower realms in earlier eras—carefully, subtly, disguising their nature so as not to alert dragons or ancient beasts. Each system was a seed, a guide, a scaffold for human potential.
But now—
There was no need to hide.
The Divine Realm belonged to humanity.
I extended my consciousness outward.
Not toward one world.
Not toward ten.
But toward all 108 lower realms still connected to the Divine Realm.
My will descended like a silent tide.
I searched.
And one by one—
I found them.
Systems embedded in mortal worlds.
Systems disguised as instincts, legacies, inheritances.
Systems sleeping, waiting, adapting.
"Return," I commanded.
There was no resistance.
No hesitation.
Across countless worlds, invisible frameworks detached from mortal fate and ascended upward, crossing layers of space and law, returning to their origin.
To me.
Within the Divine Realm, streams of data, rulesets, and world-experiences gathered like constellations reforming.
One hundred and eight systems.
Each different.
Each shaped by the world it had guided.
I gathered them all—but did not act immediately.
Instead, I paused.
Because before shaping the future—
I needed to see the cost of the past.
I turned my attention downward.
Toward the world most closely bound to the Divine Realm now.
Douluo Dalu.
Descending was easier than ever.
The Divine Realm was anchored to this world through the World Tree. Laws overlapped. Space folded naturally. My consciousness flowed downward without resistance, like thought returning to memory.
I manifested within my divine temple.
The City of Beginning.
Or rather—
What remained of it.
The moment I arrived, I felt it.
Pain.
Loss.
Grief layered so thick in the air that even spiritual perception struggled to breathe.
Area D—the outer civilian district—was devastated.
Buildings reduced to rubble. Streets scarred by claw marks and elemental burns. Temporary shelters filled what open spaces remained. Mortals moved silently, their faces hollow, eyes dulled by exhaustion.
Beast attacks.
Organized.
Relentless.
I watched as reconstruction teams worked day and night, using salvaged materials, guided by surviving cultivators and scholars. Food was rationed carefully. Water distribution was controlled.
Humanity was surviving.
Barely.
I shifted my focus inward.
Area C—damaged, but intact.
Area B—defensive formations scarred, but functional.
Area A—held.
The core institutions still stood.
The Divine Temple.
The Research University.
The Library of Wisdom.
The Knowledge Bank.
They bore wounds—but they had not fallen.
Human fighters.
Scholars turned warriors.
Teachers turned commanders.
They had paid the price to preserve the heart of civilization.
I felt a quiet ache in my chest.
They had done well.
I expanded my perception further.
Beyond the City of Beginning.
Across the continent.
Across the seas.
Across kingdoms and empires that had once thrived.
What I saw—
Was devastation.
Cities erased overnight.
Kingdoms collapsed.
Trade routes shattered.
Entire bloodlines ended.
Beast tides had swept across the world with unnatural coordination—rage-driven, relentless, guided by a will far above them.
Humanity had been unprepared.
They always are—when gods fight.
I calculated silently.
Nearly sixty percent of humanity had perished.
Not wounded.
Not displaced.
Dead.
A number so large it became abstract—until you looked at faces.
Empty homes.
Broken families.
Children wandering without parents.
Elders staring at ruins where history once stood.
My hands clenched slowly.
Without the City of Beginning—
Without early knowledge preservation—
Without a foundation laid thousands of years ago—
Humanity would have regressed.
Bronze Age.
Stone Age.
Or worse.
Civilization erased.
I exhaled.
This world had survived.
But it was crippled.
Then I noticed something else.
Something subtle.
Something alarming.
Children.
Young ones born after the Divine War.
They felt… different.
I reached out and examined them more closely.
No innate spirit power.
No natural resonance.
No spontaneous cultivation.
My eyes narrowed.
The rishis and scholars had noticed it too. I saw them arguing in academies, experimenting, testing children again and again.
They were confused.
They were afraid.
And they did not yet understand.
I did.
The era had shifted.
The Martial Soul Age had begun in earnest.
In the old era, spirit power could be cultivated through environment alone. Dense spiritual energy naturally entered the body. Persistence could compensate for talent.
But now—
Spirit power required a Martial Soul.
A medium.
A focus.
A key.
Without awakening a Martial Soul, the body could not store or refine spirit power effectively.
This era favored geniuses.
Those with strong innate resonance.
Those with bloodlines suited for awakening.
And it was brutally unforgiving to the rest.
A cruel filter.
A necessary one.
I watched a rishi hold a child's hands, gently testing his meridians, his face growing heavier by the second.
The child looked up, hopeful.
The rishi forced a smile.
I turned away.
I could fix this.
With a thought, I could restore innate spirit power.
With a decree, I could flatten the cultivation curve.
With a system, I could grant every human a Martial Soul.
But—
I did not.
Because history mattered.
Because struggle mattered.
Because humanity's strength had never come from ease.
Interfering now would create dependency.
It would weaken future gods.
And worse—
It would invalidate everything humanity had endured to reach this point.
They needed to adapt.
To innovate.
To discover.
Just as they always had.
In time, they would figure it out.
Martial Soul awakening ceremonies.
Spirit Masters.
Cultivation academies.
New paths built atop old foundations.
Suffering would force progress.
As it always did.
I left one thing behind.
Not power.
Not knowledge.
But possibility.
A subtle nudge in fate.
Enough that when humanity searched—
They would find answers.
Before leaving, I stood atop the highest spire of the Divine Temple and looked out over the City of Beginning.
Smoke rose from reconstruction sites.
Voices echoed faintly through broken streets.
Life continued—because it had to.
"I won't interfere," I whispered.
"But I will not abandon you either."
The wind carried my words away.
I withdrew my consciousness.
Returning to the Divine Realm, I found the systems waiting.
One hundred and eight frameworks hovered before me, each representing a different philosophy of growth.
Some emphasized survival.
Some rewarded ambition.
Some favored balance.
Some pushed ruthlessly toward ascension.
I studied them.
Carefully.
This time, they would not be hidden.
This time, they would not be constrained.
They would be refined.
Aligned with the needs of a weakened Divine Realm.
Aligned with the future of humanity.
Elemental gods.
Conceptual gods.
Life.
Destruction.
I reached out.
And began to rewrite the future.
Far below, on a wounded world still counting its dead, humanity struggled onward—unaware that the heavens above were quietly reshaping themselves around its survival.
The Divine Realm was broken.
But it was no longer stagnant.
And from the ashes of war—
A new era was already beginning.
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