Ming Yao paid no heed to Demon Lord Arkos's raging fury. Her divine robes fluttered like pale flame amid the storm of demonic energy as she slowly turned her gaze toward what appeared to be an empty stretch of sky. The faint shimmer in her pupils sharpened, divine perception locking onto something that should not have existed within this battlefield.

A trace of aura lingered there.

Weak—but unmistakably real.

Her brows drew together ever so slightly. A Foundation-Building cultivator? The thought surfaced with genuine surprise. What is someone at that level doing here?

Even Arkos, blinded though he was by humiliation and wrath, sensed the shift in her attention. His three pupils narrowed simultaneously, following the direction of her gaze as his killing intent surged once more.

---

Hidden behind layers of folded space, Wang Chen held his breath. The Formation of Absolute Concealment wrapped around him like living night, devouring presence, erasing intent, severing him from the world's awareness entirely—or so it should have.

Yet the instant her gaze brushed against his position, a shock rippled through his mind like lightning striking still water.

"So… beautiful," he murmured before he could stop himself.

The words startled him.

He had seen peerless women before—Mo Huyan with her abyssal majesty, Zhao Yufei with her luminous purity, cultivator queens whose presence alone could topple empires. He was not inexperienced, nor easily swayed.

But this was different.

The woman floating above the battlefield made even heaven itself feel dull by comparison. For a fleeting, dangerous instant, his heart wavered.

Wang Chen slapped his own face hard, the sharp sound snapping him back to clarity.

"What in the hells am I thinking?"

That brief ripple of emotion had been far too smooth, far too natural—almost supernatural. A charm that didn't invade the mind directly, but instead softened it, bypassing vigilance entirely. If he had lingered even a breath longer, the consequences could have been disastrous.

Focus.

This was not a place for wandering thoughts. Romance had no footing here—only annihilation.

Before he could withdraw further into concealment, a vast shadow shifted.

Arkos's colossal head slowly turned.

Three burning eyes locked onto the void where Wang Chen hid.

And the world seemed to hold its breath.

Crimson hatred erupted within Arkos's three demonic eyes, the glow so intense it scorched the surrounding void. Veins of black-red energy crawled across his face as his fury surged past restraint.

"WHO ARE YOU!?"

His roar rolled through heaven and earth like collapsing thunder, carrying with it a weight that crushed mountains and shattered will. Arkos did not wait for an answer. Murderous qi coiled around his massive fists, compressing into dense spirals of destruction as he swung downward with absolute intent. Each strike tore through space itself, reality splitting apart like fractured glass, fragments of the world peeling away under the force of his wrath.

"Watch out!"

Ming Yao's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and urgent for the first time. Even she could not clearly perceive what that hidden figure truly was, but one truth was undeniable—a cultivator at the Foundation Realm should not, could not, survive an attack of this magnitude. Divine light gathered rapidly in her palms as she prepared to intervene, golden rings of authority forming instinctively around her wrists.

But before she could move—

As Arkos's shadow swallowed him whole, the man hidden between layers of space finally spoke.

His lips barely moved.

"Chronoblade."

The world shuddered.

Sound vanished as though erased from existence itself. Color drained away, leaving only a pale, lifeless silence. A ripple of silvery light unfurled from Wang Chen's palm, not expanding violently but overwriting reality as it spread. The collapsing void froze mid-fracture, shattered space hanging motionless like suspended shards of broken crystal.

Arkos's colossal body blurred—then reappeared dozens of meters away.

Frozen.

His raised fists, twisted expression, and erupting demonic qi were all locked in place, suspended between layers of shattered space and halted time. Even the raging storm of destruction he had unleashed was imprisoned, compressed into an unmoving instant.

A soft voice echoed within that absolute stillness.

"Hm. Quite impatient."

Wang Chen stepped forward calmly, his presence sharp and chilling against the frozen battlefield. A faint, almost amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he regarded the immobilized Demon Lord.

Even in stopped time, he could feel it—the immense killing intent radiating from Arkos, dense enough to annihilate a city in a single breath. Under normal circumstances, that power would have crushed him without mercy.

But now—

Now it was bound.

Chained by something higher than time, higher than fate.

Non-Existence.

Wang Chen's eyes glinted coldly as he raised his hand, the rune etched between his brows beginning to burn.

"Let's see if you're still so proud," he murmured softly, voice carrying a surgical cruelty, "once I take every shred of your fortune."

The rune flared.

What burst forth was not qi.

Not mana.

Not divine authority.

It was negation itself—

a force that denied the right to exist.

And the heavens trembled in silence.

A force that erased meaning wherever it passed.

The endless sky rippled like disturbed water, layers of reality trembling as though they could no longer decide whether they should continue existing. Everything that breathed, everything that was, hesitated on the precipice of ending. It was not destruction in the conventional sense; it was far worse. It was denial.

The Authority of Non-Existence had awakened.

Wind vanished first, as if swallowed whole. Sound followed, cut cleanly from the world. Even motion itself seemed to falter, reduced to a concept no longer permitted to function. Within that silent, suffocating field, only one figure remained unaffected.

Wang Chen stood calmly at its center, cloaked in nothingness, as though the void itself acknowledged him as its sovereign.

"I want everything that is yours," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the deadened world.

The rune between his brows flared once.

Something deep inside Arkos answered.

A violent tremor rippled through the demon lord's frozen body, and then—tearing free from his chest—appeared a golden lotus formed of interwoven fate and destiny. Three radiant petals unfolded, each etched with shimmering threads of fortune accumulated through countless battles, victories, and stolen lives.

To cultivate was to defy heaven, but no cultivator truly walked alone. Behind every breakthrough, every narrow escape, every impossible triumph, there existed unseen currents of luck. Those currents now unraveled.

The lotus trembled, struggling futilely, before drifting toward Wang Chen. As it approached, the petals disintegrated into luminous strands that streamed forward and merged seamlessly into the rune at his brow. The transfer was swift, merciless, and absolute.

It lasted less than a heartbeat.

Then—

The silence shattered.

Time lurched back into motion, sound crashing into existence as though the world itself gasped for breath.

Ming Yao flashed forward instinctively, divine light surging around her raised hand. She braced herself for impact, fully expecting Arkos's annihilating strike to descend upon her in that instant.

But nothing came.

The oppressive pressure was gone. The rage that had twisted the heavens moments earlier had vanished without a trace. No demonic roar followed—only an unsettling stillness.

Her eyes widened as she turned.

Where the Demon Lord had stood, there was nothing.

No corpse.

No residue.

No lingering aura.

Even the air behaved as though he had never existed there at all, as if the heavens themselves had quietly rewritten reality and removed an error.

"What…?" Ming Yao whispered, her heart trembling despite herself. "He vanished?"

Wang Chen exhaled slowly, his shoulders shaking as the backlash finally reached him. The rune of Non-Existence within his consciousness dimmed to a faint ember, its glow unstable and hungry, having consumed nearly every reserve of power he had gathered.

He knew exactly what he had done.

When a being exhausted every fragment of their fortune—when destiny itself was stripped bare—heaven marked them.

An Aura of Calamity followed inevitably, drawing misfortune, annihilation, and inevitability toward its bearer until death arrived to close the account.

And Arkos had not even been granted that mercy.

But now—he had stolen that luck before the process could even begin.

Arkos had been stripped clean at the source. No destiny remained to collapse into calamity, no thread left for heaven to pull. What Wang Chen had taken was not merely fortune, but Arkos's right to continue existing within the grand weave of reality.

Without fate, Arkos no longer occupied a position in the tapestry of the world.

A root without soil.

A shadow without a body.

A name no longer recorded by heaven.

Such an existence could not be killed, because there was nothing left to die.

And so, before Ming Yao's stunned gaze, Demon Lord Arkos was not destroyed, not sealed, not banished across realms or cast into some abyssal prison. He was edited out. The world quietly corrected itself, smoothing over the absence as if he had never been part of its narrative to begin with.

No corpse fell.

No echo lingered.

Even memory itself recoiled, struggling to justify why fear still clung to the battlefield when its source had vanished.

Wang Chen lifted his gaze toward the now-empty sky. The last trace of demonic darkness drained from his pupils, replaced by a depth that felt unsettlingly hollow, as though he had stared too long into something that predated creation.

A being without fate could not exist.

And now, he had proven it.

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