"Brother Jian Wu?" Eli Shan's eyes widened.
The silhouette before him radiated an overwhelming presence—so vast and crushing that Eli Shan's heart trembled on instinct. Yet that terrifying aura... belonged to his senior brother? How could that be?
Just moments ago, Jian Wu looked as if he was about to collapse under the shadow's attack. If he possessed such unfathomable power, why had he struggled? And why would someone like him—someone who carried such strength and grandeur within every step—live quietly in a small sect, tucked away in a forgotten corner of a small universe?
Eli Shan stood frozen, stunned beyond reason. Questions churned within him, but none formed into clarity. Every assumption he held was shattered in an instant.
Only one thought resounded clearly in his mind:
The man before him... was majestic!
However, before Eli Shan could recover from the shock, a thunderous voice exploded from the distant horizon.
"Jian Wu! Today, our battle will end! I will show the universe that I am the strongest being ever born!"
The roar shook the very fabric of existence. Space rippled, quivered—trembled. A dark aura surged forward like a plague, swallowing light, devouring sound, draining warmth from the air. It was not mere power.
It was fear that took a form!
As the darkness spread, the universe itself seemed to recoil. Stars dimmed. The sky grew heavy.
Eli Shan felt a cold chill snake down his spine. His hands trembled—only slightly, but unmistakably.
"Wh-What is this...?" he whispered, barely hearing his own voice. "Am I... actually scared?"
The realization struck harder than any blade.
He had faced death before. He had seen monstrous beasts, ancient cultivators, heavenly tribulations—and never once had his heart faltered.
But now—
For the first time in his life, Eli Shan felt fear.
Slowly, he turned toward the source of that monstrous presence—and his eyes widened, not merely in shock, but in fear so raw it froze him in place.
What stood there was not a man.
It was a demon!
His entire body was shrouded in darkness—not the ordinary shade of night nor the shadow of an assassin's cloak, but something far heavier, far more vile. A choking, suffocating murk clung to him, twisting the air itself. Eli Shan couldn't even see the man's face. It was as if the darkness was alive, writhing and pulsing with hunger.
"No... this isn't just darkness," Eli Shan whispered. "This is corruption."
His voice trembled despite himself.
"He must have used some vile, forbidden technique to reach this level... but now his entire body is tainted. It reeks of blood... and filth."
The stench of slaughter, cruelty, and madness clung to him like a cloak.
This was not power gained through talent.
Nor through hard work.
This was the power traded for his humanity—and his soul.
Eli Shan's breath hitched. The realization settled in his chest like ice.
Slowly, his gaze shifted to Jian Wu. His senior brother stepped forward slowly, wrapped in a calm, steady sword aura that flowed around him like serene waters—quiet, yet immeasurably deep.
"I'll speak the truth," Jian Wu said. His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried a weight that settled across the battlefield. "I was glad to have you as my rival. I walked this path alone for far too long... drowning in boredom."
He raised his blade. The sword's edge gleamed with a quiet finality, pointing directly at the corrupted being.
"But after you lost to me, you chased power recklessly. You forged a technique that devours even its user—and now, this is the result." Jian Wu's eyes narrowed, emotion vanishing into solemn resolve. His final words fell like a whisper of farewell. "...So I suppose this is goodbye."
And then—he moved.
Jian Wu didn't leap. He didn't dash. He didn't explode forward.
He simply disappeared, dissolving into the air like a passing breeze.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
The next heartbeat came—and their swords were already colliding. A storm of steel, flashing faster than thought.
"So fast!" Eli Shan gasped, eyes stretched wide. "In that single moment... how many times have they clashed? Millions? Billions? No—" His voice shook. "I can't even begin to count!"
He dared not blink.
He dared not breathe.
His chest surged with awe—pure, overwhelming awe—as he watched Jian Wu's swordsmanship, flawless and absolute, unfold before him.
From the very beginning, Jian Wu had remained utterly calm. Yet every swing of his blade carried unfathomable weight, each strike vast enough to annihilate galaxies.
"I'm truly glad my real body isn't here," Eli Shan thought, a chill running through him. "Otherwise, even with my universe power, it would have been hard just to survive."
His gaze shifted to Jian Wu's opponent, who staggered back slightly under the relentless sword attack—yet still managed to parry each strike.
The battle raged on. Hours bled into days, days into months. Months dissolved into years, and years into centuries. Time itself seemed to blur. Yet Eli Shan did not blink, not even once. He stood rooted in awe, witnessing a clash far beyond mortal comprehension.
Many, when faced with beings of this level, would have abandoned the path of cultivation altogether, despairing at the impossible gap between them. But Eli Shan's heart thundered in his chest. No—he did not want to retreat. He wanted to become like them... no, he wanted to surpass them!
Deep within, Eli Shan had always known he was different. So long as he never gave in to arrogance, so long as he refused to quit, he believed he could ascend even higher than these titans. To reach that realm, potential, experience, luck—yes, all mattered. But the greatest fortune of all was this: to witness the battle of such powerhouses with his own eyes.
This was not something that could be read in scrolls or taught by masters. This was a once-in-an-eternity chance, and he would engrave every swing, every aura, into the depths of his soul. Time became meaningless. Nothing existed but the clash of these two supreme cultivators.
Then—after what felt like a million years—Eli Shan was jolted from his trance. The demon's dark aura erupted, an ocean of corruption so vast it could swallow millions of universes whole—including the one that birthed him.
"They've... surpassed the Gods!" Eli Shan gasped, his mind reeling in disbelief.
Eli Shan's breath caught in his throat. Jian Wu's sword aura blazed like a celestial storm, meeting the demon's suffocating darkness head-on. The collision of their auras alone sent ripples through creation—cracks spreading across the void, entire higher universes quaking as if they were fragile glass.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
"Let's end it," the demon growled, his voice echoing like thunder across eternity.
"Yes," Jian Wu whispered, calm as still water—yet his stance radiated finality.
The demon threw away his sword. His fingers curled into a fist, and from it erupted a force so raw, so destructive, it could erase billions of worlds in an instant.
For two heartbeats, silence ruled. Their eyes locked, unblinking, unyielding.
Then—
They moved.
Both figures vanished, swallowed by speed that defied reason. To Eli Shan, even time itself seemed to scream and shatter, unable to contain their movements.
And then—
They reappeared before each other. Jian Wu's sword arced down, and the demon's fist surged upward.
When they met—
BOOOOM!
The clash was not sound—it was annihilation given voice. A shockwave detonated outward, ripping through existence. Trillions of stars vanished. Realms collapsed like sandcastles in a storm. Higher universes, vast and endless, were obliterated in a single breath.
Space convulsed. Reality tore apart. For a moment, there was nothing but raw chaos—a blinding brilliance that devoured everything.
And then silence.
Only the void remained.
Eli Shan's heart thundered in his chest, faster, louder, until it felt like it would burst. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened, his body trembling with uncontainable excitement.
"I want this power...! I want it!!!"
As the dust began to settle, his eyes locked onto the battlefield. There—standing tall amidst the endless void—was Jian Wu. His golden armor was nothing but shattered fragments, his entire body drenched in blood, yet his spine remained unbent, his gaze unyielding.
Opposite him lay the demon. Half-lifeless, broken, his body reduced to a pool of blood adrift in the void. The once-impenetrable darkness shrouding him had withered away, leaving behind... a face.
Eli Shan froze. His breath hitched. His vision blurred as if his very soul rejected what he saw.
"Brother... Wen Lun?"
The words escaped him in disbelief, a whisper trembling on the edge of madness.
How? He had watched this battle unfold for what felt like a million years—longer than his entire lifespan—yet never once had he recognized the face beneath that suffocating aura. And now, the truth pierced him deeper than any blade. His senior brother—the one he thought only slightly above average—had once stood as one of the strongest beings in existence.
What kind of twisted fate was this? What cruel logic governed their universe?
As questions tore through his mind, the broken figure stirred. Wen Lun's lips curled into a faint smile, blood staining his teeth.
"Maybe... my half-ass technique wasn't strong enough... to defeat the strongest of this universe," he whispered, his voice thin yet steady.
Across from him, Jian Wu staggered, his breath ragged, every movement heavy with exhaustion. And yet, his eyes burned with respect.
"And guess what?" he replied, his voice low but resolute. "Even with my complete technique... I still couldn't kill you."
Both fell silent.
The void stretched endlessly around them, broken only by the faint echoes of their battle. For a long while, neither spoke—two titans, bloodied and broken, sitting in the aftermath of destruction.
At last, Wen Lun's lips parted, his voice hoarse yet steady.
"Tell me—what was I lacking? I forged the strongest demonic technique in all existence. I drowned entire eras in blood to ascend to this realm. For countless ages, they called me the most fearsome Demon Lord to ever walk the worlds. Then why? Why could I not surpass you? Was it... potential?"
Jian Wu closed his eyes for a moment, silence hanging heavy between them. His gaze drifted into the void, as if searching for an answer written in the fabric of existence itself. Finally, with a deep, weary sigh, he spoke.
"No, Wen Lun... it wasn't the potential you lacked. It was your technique that was filled with filth." His voice carried a rare weight of honesty. Then he added, almost bitterly, "And truthfully... it wasn't just you. I lacked it as well. I was arrogant enough to believe I could end you with ease. But now... if I hadn't begun cultivating long before you were even born, perhaps this battle would have ended differently."
With what strength remained, Jian Wu staggered toward Wen Lun and found a seat in the void beside him. His breath was shallow, but his tone was calm.
"Hey, Wen Lun... I've come to realize something. We are not the true peak of cultivation."
Wen Lun gave a faint, broken laugh, his trembling body folding as he sat down beside his rival. He lifted his eyes to the fractured sky, his voice little more than a whisper.
"I suppose... you're right. And if there really is someone beyond us... someone standing higher than this..." His lips curled into the ghost of a smile. "Then I would like to be guided by him."
Jian Wu nodded slowly, then spoke with sudden thought.
"Hey, Wen Lun... earlier, you asked if you were lacking something. I don't know if it'll work, but... how about learning swordsmanship?"
Wen Lun blinked, stunned. "Swordsmanship? Why? You know I've cultivated demonic techniques my entire life. You think I'll abandon them now?"
Jian Wu shook his head. "No. You don't have to give them up. All I'm saying is—set them aside for a while. Master the sword. Then, when you've tempered yourself, combine it with your purest demonic technique. Imagine it—your demon arts fused with the sword."
Wen Lun searched Jian Wu's eyes—and found no mockery there, only sharp, earnest seriousness. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "Why do you sound like some big brother lecturing me?"
Jian Wu grinned, flashing all his teeth. "Because I've been watching you since you were weak. Waiting for you to climb to my realm, to relieve me of my boredom. Maybe... during that time, I grew a little fond of you."
Wen Lun chuckled, shaking his head. "So that's why you held back in your last strike? So I wouldn't die?"
Jian Wu looked away, eyes to the void. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Wen Lun found his behavior amusing and let out a short laugh—quiet, tired, yet genuine. Then he leaned back, eyes drifting to the endless sky—or rather, the empty void that replaced it. For a while, neither spoke. Both wore the same smile, the satisfied grin of warriors who had found what they sought in battle.
After a long silence, Jian Wu rose to his feet and strode forward. He paused before Wen Lun, extending his hand.
"Stand up... brother."
Wen Lun stared at the hand, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment of thought, he clasped it and pulled himself up. His body trembled, but his eyes burned bright.
"Just because I've acknowledged you as the strongest," Wen Lun declared, his voice firm, "doesn't mean I'll stop here. I'll continue to climb. And one day..." His grin widened. "I will defeat you!"
Jian Wu nodded with a solemn face. "I believe y—"
Before he could finish, a voice split through the void.
BOOOOOOM!
It wasn't just sound—it was a thunderous will that hammered against their eardrums, echoing through their souls.
"You think you can become stronger like this?"
Both Jian Wu and Wen Lun froze. Slowly, their gazes rose toward the endless void.
A man descended. His long dark hair flowed weightlessly, his black robes drifting like shadows across the broken sky. Each step was calm, measured—yet every inch he fell made the void itself tremble.
Jian Wu's eyes widened. Wen Lun's breath hitched. They glanced at each other, then back at the descending figure.
There was no aura, no fluctuation of power to sense. He seemed utterly... ordinary. And yet—the pressure he radiated was suffocating. It was the same unbearable weight they had once felt at the very start of their cultivation journeys, when their master—an existence beyond Great Emperor—had revealed his strength.
Wen Lun forced his trembling body upright, his tone cautious.
"Who are you... and what do you mean?"
The man only smiled. His descent was as smooth and serene as water, his presence utterly unshaken by the devastation around him. His gaze locked onto Wen Lun, piercing straight through him like a blade.
"You don't need to know who I am," he said softly, almost playfully. "What you need to know... is who you are."
Wen Lun frowned, his mind clouded with confusion. Summoning what little strength he had left, he raised his guard. "I asked who you are! Don't twist my words—or I'll deal with you myself!"
The man's lips curved upward, his eyes glimmering with amusement. He shifted his gaze to Jian Wu, who had also fallen into a defensive stance. For a moment, he looked at them both as if they were children playing at war.
Then, with a small chuckle, he shook his head. "So cautious... to me?" His voice dripped with mockery. "If I wished for your deaths, do you really think you could stop me?"
Wen Lun's face twisted, his words rushed, desperate.
"You... you're nothing but a coward! To come before us only when we are broken and bleeding—where was your courage when we stood whole?"
When the man in black heard the word coward, his smile only widened, curving into something both cruel and amused.
"Maybe it's fine to have fun sometimes," he whispered, his voice carrying like a cold wind. He raised his hand lazily—then brought it down with a casual flick.
The heavens split.
A dark aura tore through the void sky, screaming like a thousand wails as it plummeted toward them.
Jian Wu and Wen Lun froze. Their bodies refused to move, their breaths stolen. The crushing pressure pressed on their souls until their bones felt like splinters.
"This... this is the end," Jian Wu realized.
He turned his head toward Wen Lun with a trembling smile—one filled not with acceptance, but with quiet fear.
And as if he had heard the unspoken thought, Wen Lun's gaze met his.
A faint, tired smile touched his lips as he slowly closed his eyes.
"Yes... There's no escape."
They waited for death.
But when the aura struck, pain never came.
Instead—fire erupted through their veins. Their shattered meridians mended, bones reforged, wounds sealed as if time itself bowed and rewound. Strength—pure, untainted, limitless—poured into their cores until they trembled not from fear, but from the sheer force of it.
Wen Lun's eyes flew open, glowing with shock.
"W-What... is this?!"
Jian Wu staggered, breath quivering, aura surging higher and higher without end.
"I don't know... but it feels like—" His voice broke. "As if I've reached the peak of my cultivation!"
Wen Lun's eyes widened, glowing with disbelief. "No... maybe even higher!"
Their wounds vanished without a trace. Their meridians thrummed with overwhelming force. Their energy didn't just surge—it roared, expanding beyond anything they had ever known.
They turned to face one another.
But this time, their expressions weren't filled with despair.
Their faces had gone pale from awe—and from the quiet, creeping fear of standing on a height beyond all mortal comprehension.
The man in black tilted his head, his smile calm, almost mocking.
"So, what do you say? If I were to act now, you wouldn't dare call me a coward, would you?"
Their hearts pounded. They could not deny it. The very act of healing them, of raising them beyond their limits, was enough to prove—before this man, they were no more than children.
Wen Lun and Jian Wu exchanged one last glance. Their throats tightened, and slowly, they lowered themselves. Kneeling, their foreheads touched the ground.
"We apologize for our insolence, elder!" they shouted in unison, their voices trembling.
Hearing this, the man was not surprised. Of course, they wouldn't dare question him—the one who could raise them to the peak of cultivation with nothing more than a flick of his fingers.
He gave a slight nod, and with an effortless wave of his hand, both Jian Wu and Wen Lun were lifted to their feet as if pulled by the strings of fate. His voice was calm, yet carried the weight of heavens themselves.
"I sensed two powers clashing, shaking even the void itself. So, I came to see."
"Ohh," Jian Wu responded, then he lowered his eyes, trying to collect his courage. Then he looked up and suddenly said, "Elder, can I ask you something?"
The man met his eyes. A simple, indifferent nod. "Yes. Speak."
Jian Wu's eyes sharpened, his heart pounding as he asked with rare humility, "Can you tell us what we lack, elder?"
The man's gaze cut straight into him—sharp, merciless, and honest.
"What you lack..."
His voice was calm, yet every word struck like a hammer.
"...is technique, discipline—
—and potential."
The words struck Jian Wu like thunder. His chest tightened.
No potential? Me?
After all the years... after reaching the peak... after everything he had carved out of himself—
He had never imagined those words would be spoken to him. Yet the man's tone left no room for doubt.
"However," the man continued, "weakness is not the end. With the right techniques, even the impossible can be surpassed."
Before Jian Wu could reply, the man's eyes shifted to Wen Lun. His voice turned cold, sharp enough to slice into bone.
"And you. Your condition is the same, but your heart is weaker. All you've done is kill... slaughter after slaughter, feeding on demon techniques. You never purified the filth of their blood essence. And in the end, you turned into a mad demon—a pitiful creature who was spared only by the pity of the strongest swordsman."
Wen Lun clenched his fists, trembling. He couldn't refute it. Deep down, he knew. He had clawed forward despite limits, but at what cost?
Silence fell. Heavy. Crushing. Both men were lost in their storm of thoughts, the man's words echoing like divine judgment.
Finally, Jian Wu dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. His voice shook, but carried a burning resolve.
"Please, guide us, master. We are willing to give everything—anything—to reach a new height."
Seeing him, Wen Lun also knelt down, his voice hoarse.
"Yes, master. Show us the path."
The man's lips curved into a faint smile. From elder to master—such swift surrender.
"You need not call me 'master,'" he said softly, yet the refusal felt like an unshakable decree. "I will not teach you. The path of cultivation... cannot be handed down. It can only be found by one's own hands, carved from one's own blood."
He paused, letting the words sink deep into their hearts. Then, with a gaze that seemed to pierce through time itself, he added— "...But perhaps, I can guide you a little."