Completely unexpected.

Wang Chen's eyes widened in genuine shock. He hadn't been expecting Doomclock to evolve—much less like this. When he first acquired the skill, it had merely been Rare grade. Useful, yes. Reliable, absolutely. But still something that belonged to the lower tiers of power.

Yet it was the skill he relied on the most.

Because Doomclock was honest plain skill.

It didn't rely on flashy destruction, overwhelming force, or fragile momentum. It simply ended things. Cleanly. Inevitably.

Too damn practical.

But now… it hadn't evolved into Epic grade.

It had leaped straight into Transcendental.

The same realm as Garden of Eternity.

The same league as Chronoblade.

For a brief moment, Wang Chen simply sat there, his thoughts lagging behind reality.

"This is absurd…"

Even he—someone who had grown numb to system miracles—needed a moment to process this.

Suppressing the turmoil in his chest, Wang Chen halted the creation of the Chains of Enlightenment and focused his attention fully on the floating system window.

[Doomclock: Final Hour]

[Once activated, an invisible metaphysical clock manifests above the target's fate.

The countdown cannot be stopped, cleansed, delayed, or accelerated by any known means.

When the final second strikes, all ongoing protections, revivals, time reversals, and fate-altering effects are forcibly invalidated.

The target is erased at the causal level, leaving no corpse, no soul, and no aftermath.

If the target dies before the countdown ends, the remaining time is converted into a permanent increase to the caster's stats and authority.

Restriction:

Can only be used once per major realm breakthrough.]

"Hisss…"

Wang Chen involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath of cold air.

Erase at the causal level.

No corpse left behind, neither soul.

No chance of reincarnation.

No destiny rollback either.

No miracles of a senior coming to save you out of nowhere.

Just… gone.

This wasn't killing anymore.

This was the world being forced to admit someone should never have existed in the first place.

For a fleeting moment, excitement surged through Wang Chen's veins like lightning. With this skill, even beings far above his current cultivation could not escape death. Not with preparation. Not with divine artifacts. Not with fate itself backing them.

Then his gaze dropped to the final line.

Once per major realm.

"…That's it?"

The thrill died instantly.

"So few uses…" he muttered, lips twitching.

The enemies he would face were endless.

But realms?

Those were finite.

No matter how absurdly powerful Final Hour was, it wasn't a skill he could casually rely on. It wasn't a tool for routine survival—it was a last verdict, something meant to be used only when the cost no longer mattered.

A trump card so final that even the system refused to let him abuse it.

Wang Chen leaned back slightly and exhaled.

Complaining was pointless. Whether he liked it or not, the skill was already his.

And deep down… he knew.

A power like this was never meant to be convenient.

Finally, Wang Chen's gaze lingered on the second-to-last line.

A permanent increase in strength and authority…?

Strength barely stirred his interest. Power could be cultivated, multiplied, or borrowed. But authority—that was different.

There was an old saying in the cultivation world, one so widely accepted it was practically carved into the bones of reality:

"Strength wins battles. Authority decides whether the enemy was allowed to exist in the first place."

In simpler terms, authority was law.

If strength let you break rules, authority decided which rules applied to you at all.

If a domain decreed that no one could stand upright, a bearer of sufficient law authority could remain standing without resistance—because the rule would quietly step aside for them. Not shattered. Not defied.

Simply… ignored.

An absurd power.

A terrifying one.

Wang Chen fell silent, letting the implications sink in. The more he thought about it, the more dangerous Final Hour became—not just as a killing technique, but as a means of accumulating authority through inevitability itself.

After several minutes, the turbulence in his heart gradually settled. Excitement faded, replaced by cold clarity. He had understood everything that needed to be understood.

And he hadn't forgotten his original goal.

His focus returned to the Chains of Enlightenment.

Today, no matter what, he was reaching the peak of Foundation Building.

As his thoughts aligned, the creation resumed. Chains of starlight condensed one after another, weaving themselves into the fabric of the Garden of Eternity. One thousand… then steadily climbing toward two thousand.

Then Wang Chen noticed something.

The process was faster.

Much faster.

Where it once took ten minutes to form a single Chain of Enlightenment, now it took barely five. The chains assembled with cleaner structure, sharper resonance, as if the world itself had become more cooperative.

Wang Chen's eyes flickered.

Was it the evolution of Doomclock?

Or the subtle rise in authority that followed?

Either way, the conclusion was obvious.

If a single transcendental-grade skill could halve the time…

Then what would happen if he possessed several?

A slow, dangerous thought settled into his mind.

Before his next breakthrough, he would need to spend extra time inside the Tower.

Grinding.

Not for strength.

But for authority.

Because at a certain level, fighting your enemies was inefficient.

It was far better to decide—quietly, absolutely—that they were never meant to exist at all.

Wang Chen sat alone in his meditation chamber, the Formation of Absolute Concealment operating at full capacity. Not a single strand of qi escaped its grasp; even the air itself seemed severed from the outside world, trapped in a silent, isolated domain.

Time flowed without warning.

By the time Wang Chen became aware of it again, three days had passed as effortlessly as a single breath.

Crack.

A soft, brittle sound echoed through the chamber.

The fingernail-sized Crystal of Enlightenment hovering before him fractured, splitting into countless motes of pale light before dissolving completely into nothingness.

Wang Chen's tightly shut eyes snapped open.

For a fleeting instant, it was as if sun and moon rose together within his dark pupils, a sharp radiance flashing before fading into calm depth. A slow, satisfied smile formed at the corner of his lips.

He clenched his fist.

Then released it.

The simple motion caused the air to tremble. A faint ignition followed, like invisible sparks snapping against dry kindling.

Power surged through every tendon, every bone. Not violent. Not wild. Controlled. Obedient.

His strength had multiplied—no, surged—doubling, perhaps even tripling from before.

For a brief moment, an absurd thought crossed his mind.

Even without the Strength Avatar…

He might actually be able to trade blows with that Three-Eyed Clan demon.

"…You've got to be kidding me."

Wang Chen rolled his eyes, immediately dismissing the idea.

That creature had been a Deity Transformation cultivator—two entire major realms above him. Reason dictated the gap was still insurmountable.

And yet…

The irrational confidence refused to disappear.

After a moment, he forcefully set the thought aside and turned his focus inward.

The Garden of Eternity greeted his perception.

The micro-tears that had once marred its boundary walls were now almost completely healed. Thousands of Chains of Enlightenment flickered intermittently across the edges of the space, their divine glow reinforcing the fabric of reality itself, preventing any chance of inward collapse.

The atmosphere had changed as well.

Qi density had skyrocketed.

At a casual glance, Wang Chen could tell it had nearly doubled, saturating the miniature world with vitality. Breathing alone would be cultivation for the beings inside.

And they had multiplied.

The number of living beings had grown severalfold. The Heaven Rending Dynasty was no longer unrivaled—another major power had risen to challenge its dominance, shaping the world in its own image.

Wang Chen merely shook his head, uninterested.

None of them shone like Ni Luo had.

After witnessing Doomclock's evolution, Wang Chen found himself anticipating the emergence of another such anomaly—another figure capable of forcing the world to adapt.

Maybe then…

His techniques might climb even higher.

Beyond transcendental.

A dangerous thought.

But one he did not reject.

The more Wang Chen observed, the more satisfied he became. After committing the state of everything to memory, he finally let out a slow, contented sigh and withdrew his attention, sealing the Garden of Eternity behind layers of indifference.

…

"Master, can you please teach me an offensive skill…?"

Zhao Yunfei asked in a tone that was both earnest and slightly silly, her posture straight, hands clenched tightly as if sheer determination alone could carve a path for her.

Lin Huang didn't respond.

His gaze remained fixed on the tightly shut door of the meditation chamber.

Something about the silence unsettled him.

It was rare for Master to remain inside for this long. Even during his previous secluded cultivations, Wang Chen had always emerged sooner than expected—usually with a lazy smile, as if nothing in the world could truly bind him.

But this time was different.

The door hadn't moved.

No aura leaked out. No fluctuation. No hint of presence.

Lin Huang's brows knit together almost imperceptibly.

What exactly happened inside…?

For the first time in a long while, a faint unease crept into his heart.

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