In the grand game between heaven and earth, every being had a role to play, no matter how insignificant it seemed. Even a pebble tossed into still water would send ripples across the surface of destiny, subtle yet unavoidable. Existence itself was a vast, interlocking script, and every life was a line written somewhere within it.

But in that instant, Wang Chen had erased Demon Lord Arkos's role entirely.

By consuming the demon's fate, he had not merely slain him. He had deleted his significance. The world, unable to reconcile an existence stripped of destiny, quietly corrected itself. Cause and effect folded inward, memories blurred, and reality rewrote its own margins to pretend that the demon had never been born at all.

Hiss—

A sharp chill ran down Wang Chen's spine as the full weight of that truth settled into his bones.

He hadn't used a divine technique.

He hadn't even used a forbidden art.

He had tampered with the structure of fate itself.

For the first time since touching the Non-Existence Authority, genuine fear flickered behind his composed gaze. This power was no longer something he could dismiss as a desperate measure or a singular miracle. It was something that could spiral far beyond his control if he grew careless.

Across from him, Ming Yao remained frozen in mid-air, her divine radiance dimmed by sheer shock. Her thoughts felt fractured, struggling to form a coherent explanation for what she had just witnessed. That a Demon Lord, a being who stood at the threshold of unity with heaven's laws, could be erased by a cultivator at the Foundation-Building Realm was not merely unbelievable.

It was heresy.

Slowly, deliberately, Wang Chen forced himself to breathe. He steadied his pulse, then turned his spiritual gaze inward, toward the faint halo of fate surrounding his soul. There, three golden petals circled him like wary spirits, each one a fragment of Arkos's stolen fortune. Their glow was unstable, flickering as though afraid of lingering too close to the man who had devoured their master's destiny.

The moment the petals brushed the edge of his halo, two of them dimmed abruptly and dissolved into nothingness, scattering like dust in a windless void. Only one remained.

That final petal merged with his destiny lotus, expanding it slightly before reshaping itself into something simpler, more condensed. When the transformation finished, a single-petaled lotus of fate hovered quietly within his spiritual sea, stable yet unmistakably diminished.

Wang Chen exhaled slowly.

So much fortune lost in the exchange. Even stealing fate exacted a price, and heaven clearly took its interest up front. Still, the result was undeniable. If he could one day seize an entire, unbroken destiny… perhaps even his disciples, monstrous as their growth was, would never be able to catch up to him.

Before he could dwell on that thought, something tugged faintly at his awareness.

The bond.

His connection to the ancient beast egg stirred once more.

The egg was feeding again.

He felt it immediately. His fortune, the very aura of luck he had just stabilized, was being siphoned away through that subtle thread. This time, however, the drain was weaker, slower, as though the creature within had already eaten its fill and was merely tasting the excess.

"Hmph," Wang Chen muttered, eyes narrowing. "So the little beast's stomach is full at last…"

In his memory, the cracks webbing across the egg's shell deepened, spreading like veins of light. Its birth was close now. Uncomfortably close.

Still, the most immediate danger had passed. The demon was gone, erased without residue, and his own fate had stabilized enough to endure the backlash. The world around him had already begun to calm, the shattered qi slowly settling back into order.

Wang Chen finally relaxed.

"Now I can head back to the dojo," he murmured, a trace of warmth entering his voice. "My disciples must be worried sick… I didn't even warn them before I left."

With that, he prepared to activate One Thought Step, spatial intent already gathering beneath his feet.

Behind him, high above the broken plains of Seven Rainbow City, Ming Yao finally stirred. The rigid shock in her eyes melted away, replaced by something far more dangerous than fear. Curiosity. Interest. And a sharp, growing spark of obsession.

A man this strong…

A mere Foundation-Building cultivator capable of erasing a Unity-level demon…

Her gaze followed his fading silhouette, her heart beating just a little faster.

This world, she realized, had become far more interesting than she had ever imagined.

Her heart trembled.

"This man… this is the one worthy to be my husband," Ming Yao whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind that swept across the broken battlefield. The divine light around her flickered, not with instability, but with a restrained excitement that she herself rarely allowed to surface.

"With him, Father will surely approve of my heir," she continued softly, her fingers curling as if grasping something just beyond reach. "And then—then I'll finally be free."

Her pulse quickened, but it was not infatuation that drove it. There was no girlish flutter, no romantic haze clouding her judgment. This was liberation given shape and name, a key forged in flesh and fate. Wang Chen was not merely a man in her eyes; he was a solution, an exit from the gilded cage she had endured since birth.

At the same moment, far above the battlefield, Wang Chen's teleportation sequence faltered.

A strange sensation brushed against his perception, like a thread of fate vibrating out of tune. His figure flickered in midair, half-phased between locations, before solidifying once more. His brows furrowed as fragments of sound, distorted yet unmistakable, slipped into his awareness.

"…worthy… husband…"

"…approve… heir…"

His expression froze.

"…breedable… produce an heir…?"

Wang Chen slowly turned his head, scanning the empty sky with open disbelief. For a heartbeat, he genuinely wondered if some deranged demon remnant was whispering nonsense as a last act of revenge.

"Breedable?" he muttered, voice flat. "Produce… what exactly is being produced here?"

His gaze shifted—and landed squarely on Ming Yao.

The so-called celestial goddess was staring directly at him now, her eyes no longer distant or indifferent, but sharp, intent, and frighteningly focused. There was no shyness in that look, no hesitation. It was the gaze of someone who had made a decision and saw no reason to doubt it.

Wang Chen's face darkened instantly.

"Surely," he thought grimly, "this noble lady isn't talking about that… right?"

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