To summon a Divine Spirit was to wield an art reserved for those who had touched the Divine Spirit Realm. It was an expression of a cultivator's soul, its brilliance eclipsing ordinary techniques.
Song Changge's Divine Spirit burst into being—the Skylight Sword of the Heavenly Vault. Originating from Extreme Sun Peak, it was one of three supreme legacy arts, as unpredictable as a storm.
The air shimmered with threads of radiant gold as the spirit unfurled, its edges gleaming with the promise of ruin.
Until that moment, Qin Ting had dominated the duel, each strike forcing Song Changge to scramble. But the unveiling of the Skylight Sword shifted the crowd's favor. Murmurs of doubt rippled among the disciples.
True, Qin Ting was a prodigy, his battle prowess proven against foes beyond his realm. Yet the Divine Spirit Realm stood as an impassable divide—a crucible where the Dao foundation transcended mortal limits.
An ancient adage echoed in their minds: Those below the Divine Spirit Realm are but ants. For all his brilliance, Qin Ting's Divine Wheel Realm seemed a flickering candle against the blaze of Song Changge's ascent.
'Your turn to bow down, Qin Ting.'
A savage glint flashed in Song Changge's eyes. The spirit split into forty-nine streams of sword energy—each a blade of searing light. They streaked toward Qin Ting from all directions, a web of destruction closing with relentless precision.
Qin Ting's hands wove through seals, swift as a river's flow, conjuring a wall of ice that gleamed like frozen moonlight. The Skylight Sword struck with unyielding force, shattering the barrier into crystalline dust.
A playful chuckle escaped Qin Ting's lips, light and carefree. At the center of his brow, a divine wheel flared to life, its golden radiance igniting the air. The wheel spun faster, weaving threads of light into a towering nine-story pagoda—a monolith of divine will that pierced the sky.
The pagoda enveloped him, its shimmering walls pulsing with ancient runes like veins of gold, absorbing the surrounding light. Then came the Skylight Sword, a streak of blinding fury slashing toward him.
The collision shook the stage to its core. A thunderous roar erupted. Power exploded in a tempest of gold and white, sword energies clawing against the pagoda's unyielding frame.
For a fleeting moment, the pagoda stood resolute. Then, with a sound like fracturing crystal, it shattered, dissolving into a cascade of sparks.
Yet the Skylight Sword faltered too, its radiant edge dulled, its ferocity spent in the cataclysmic clash.
A heavy silence fell. Eyes widened, breaths held, the onlookers frozen in the aftershock. Then, from the throng, a disciple's voice broke through.
"So strong… Senior Brother Qin is unbelievably strong."
'He defied a Divine Spirit art,' another thought, heart pounding beneath his robes. 'With just the Divine Wheel Realm—what kind of monster is he?'
The elders sat straighter, their weathered faces etched with astonishment. The True Disciples narrowed their eyes, the weight of Qin Ting's power settling into their bones.
Song Changge's breath hitched, his triumph souring as Qin Ting emerged from the fading glow—untouched, unbowed.
His face darkened. The Skylight Sword of the Heavenly Vault had faltered, its brilliance extinguished by that pagoda. His breakthrough to the Divine Spirit Realm was proving insufficient.
To lose here was to forfeit his credibility within the Profound Heaven Divine Sect. Retreat was unthinkable.
'You've forced my hand, Qin Ting. If I can't crush you with skill, I'll bury you with power.'
His glare cut toward Qin Ting, and a faint glow flickered at his forehead. From that spark erupted a formation diagram—a swirling mandala of light that unfurled like a scroll of creation.
Thousands of phantom mountains rose in jagged splendor, rivers coiled like silver serpents, and the sun and moon wheeled through an illusory sky.
In an instant, the diagram expanded, its edges humming eerily, and swallowed Qin Ting whole, trapping him in a pocket realm.
With a surge of qi, Song Changge poured his fury into the diagram. The illusory world trembled—mountains crumbled, rivers boiled into mist, and the sun and moon shattered like glass. The false cosmos began to collapse, intent on grinding everything within to oblivion.
A gray-robed elder bolted upright, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. "A Sacred Weapon!"
The words hung heavy. Sacred Weapons were relics of immense power, treasures coveted even by Divine Platform and Divine Palace Realm masters. Elder Li Zhenren—Song Changge's master—possessed only a handful, none bearing the mark of this Array Diagram Sacred Weapon.
Its origin was a mystery.
The True Disciples rose as one, their faces solemn. Feng Qianhan's gaze narrowed, while Luo Yuan's hand hovered near his sword. They exchanged fleeting glances. The crowd might speculate, but they knew the truth—this weapon traced back to that person, a shadow few dared name.
On the surface, Qin Ting's fate seemed sealed, ensnared in a collapsing realm.
The elder overseeing the duel stood motionless beside the stage, his weathered face unreadable. Tradition demanded he intervene, yet his eyes remained fixed on Qin Ting, glinting with expectation.
Within the diagram, the air thickened with the weight of annihilation.
'Ah, Senior Brother Jiang… so it was you all along.'
Qin Ting stood at the heart of the formation diagram, its swirling runes coiling around him like a tempest. Yet no trace of fear marred his serene features. His lips curved into a faint smile as he gazed at the intricate patterns pulsing beneath his feet. He let out a soft chuckle.
'I've toyed with this fool Song Changge long enough. At last, your hand is laid bare.'
Jiang Zhongbai—the eldest True Disciple of the Profound Heaven Divine Sect, a name spoken in hushed reverence. Less than a century had passed since he joined the sect, yet he had ascended to the Divine Platform Realm.
Once, he had been the uncontested heir to the Holy Son's mantle, but then Qin Ting emerged, and Jiang's star dimmed. He had cloaked himself in humility, claiming seclusion during this spectacle. Or so the sect believed.
The truth bloomed: Jiang Zhongbai had orchestrated this moment, using Song Changge's breakthrough as a blade to halt Qin Ting's rise.
Qin Ting's eyes sharpened. With the puppetmaster exposed, this pawn has outlived his use. Song Changge was now a discarded piece.
With unshakable calm, Qin Ting stepped forward, strolling out of the formation diagram as if it were a child's scribble.
The once-menacing array flickered, its power fading like a candle in the wind, until it collapsed into a lifeless sketch on tattered parchment. Qin Ting plucked it from the air, twirling it between his fingers.
"No, this is impossible!"
Song Changge's voice cracked, his eyes trembling with disbelief. He had disabled his trump card—the Array Diagram Sacred Weapon. To see it unravel so effortlessly defied reason. "What sorcery is this?"
The crowd mirrored his shock, a collective gasp rippling through the stands. A Sacred Weapon reduced to nothing by Qin Ting's casual gesture? Whispers erupted, tinged with awe and dread.
Feng Qianhan's face hardened, his composure fracturing as he stared at the scene. Qin Ting's counter had eluded even his keen perception.
More unsettling, the techniques Qin Ting had wielded throughout the duel were mere staples of the sect's arsenal—ordinary arts known to every disciple. Yet in his hands, they blossomed with a potency that defied their origins.
'He's turned the mundane into the miraculous,' Feng Qianhan thought, a chill threading through his spine. 'What depths does this Junior Brother hide?'
A spark of suspicion flared in Feng Qianhan's mind. His gaze darted to Luo Yuan, catching the faint crease of concentration on his brow. Their eyes locked, a shared disbelief flickering.
'Could it be that Qin Ting has already...' Feng Qianhan's heart stuttered.
'...stepped into the Divine Spirit Realm?' Luo Yuan's mind echoed, his breath catching.
On the stage, Qin Ting's lips curved into a smile—slight, serene, yet edged with a predator's certainty.
He regarded Song Changge with a tilt of his head, his voice smooth. "Senior Brother's flair is commendable, but when it comes to real power… well, it speaks rather poorly."
Before the echo of his words faded, Qin Ting's aura erupted.
A torrent of purple astral light cascaded around him, like a river of stars spilled from the heavens. The air shimmered with an ethereal glow. It crashed against Song Changge's presence with the force of a tidal wave, snuffing out his aura like a candle in a gale.
The pressure bore down, relentless and suffocating, forcing Song Changge to his knees with a choked grunt. His chest heaved, each ragged breath a struggle, yet Qin Ting stood untouched—his expression languid, almost bored.
The stands erupted in gasps. Female disciples leaned forward, their eyes alight with fervor. Qin Ting's figure, framed in celestial splendor, was a vision they would not soon forget.
Song Changge's face contorted, a mask of rage and shame as Qin Ting's aura pressed him deeper into the stone.
'This can't be my fate. Not after everything I've sacrificed!' Then, a shiver of awareness pierced him, his eyes widening in shock. His voice rasped out, jagged and desperate.
"You… you've reached the Divine Spirit Realm too?! How—what are you? This defies all reason!"
The crowd exploded into pandemonium, a roar of disbelief and wonder surging through the tiers. They were still reeling from Qin Ting's demolition of the Sacred Weapon, and now this—a revelation that shattered possibility.
At eighteen, Qin Ting had stormed the Divine Spirit Realm?
One disciple near the stands faltered, his words stumbling. "Divine Spirit Realm? At eighteen? No… that's not—it can't be true, can it?"
All eyes turned to the elders, seeking an anchor in the chaos. The venerable figures sat rigid, their faces carved from solemnity and streaked with incredulity.
The truth sank in, heavy and undeniable: Qin Ting, True Disciple of the Profound Heaven Divine Sect, had ascended to the Divine Spirit Realm at an age when most were still fumbling into the Primordial Pill Realm.
'A freak of nature,' one elder mused, his thoughts cloaked in awe and unease. 'This isn't talent—it's a force the heavens themselves might fear.'
The wave of shock receded, leaving a stark truth dawning on the elders like a cold moon over a battlefield.
Across the Eastern Wilderness—where legends were forged in blood and spirit—no cultivator had pierced the Divine Spirit Realm before their twentieth year. None, save Qin Ting.
Even his father, Immortal Emperor Qin Yu, a colossus whose dominion shook the heavens, had claimed that realm at twenty—a milestone revered as the edge of mortal genius. Now, his son had eclipsed it.
The elders froze, their breaths catching. Then, as if ignited by a shared spark, they erupted in unison, voices trembling with elation. "A supreme heavenly pride graces us! With him, the Profound Heaven Divine Sect will ascend to eternal splendor!"
A deathly stillness gripped the stands, as if time paused to bow before the revelation.
The crowd sat frozen, eyes wide, hearts pounding. Even the True Disciples—Feng Qianhan, Luo Yuan, and their ilk—felt the ground shift beneath them, their poise crumbling under the enormity of Qin Ting's feat.
Song Changge's power, though it had flared brightly moments ago, dwindled in their estimation. His breakthrough, propped up by his master's alchemical crutches, was a house built on sand—shallow, unstable, unworthy of the awe it had briefly commanded.
Qin Ting, by contrast, was a fortress of the Dao. His aura radiated purity, a cascade of light and power without fracture or flaw.
The True Disciples probed with their senses, searching for any weakness, any threadbare seam in his foundation. They found nothing but perfection—a Dao so resolute, so majestic, it seemed to hum with the cosmos itself.
'He's not just a prodigy,' Feng Qianhan thought, his gaze narrowing as a bead of sweat traced his temple. 'He's a force we can't measure…'
Luo Yuan, beside him, let out a slow breath, a faint tremor in his exhale betraying his awe. His sword hand relaxed, and a wry smile curved his lips as he murmured.
"Junior Brother Qin Ting… you're something else entirely."