Interesting… this little fellow was actually able to retrieve Destruction Qi from that place…

The thought drifted through the void, calm and amused, untouched by the chaos that had just swallowed a god-born existence.

Could it be… that place is about to emerge again?

Original Angel watched from beyond the boundaries of mortal perception, lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. There was no urgency in him, no shock or outrage—only mild surprise, like a chess master seeing an unexpected but elegant move on the board.

If Wang Chen could see him at this moment, he would never guess what stood behind that gaze.

Unlike the grotesque, world-warping monstrosity that was the Original Demon, the Angel looked almost… ordinary. A strikingly handsome young man stood within the folds of light and fate, dressed in simple white robes that fluttered gently as if caressed by an unseen breeze. His long, refined brows slanted gracefully above sharp, intelligent eyes the color of deep oceans. His features were flawless, serene—so perfect they felt unreal, as though sculpted by the heavens themselves.

A face that could disarm nations.

A presence that could make saints doubt their Dao.

And yet, behind that calm exterior lay something ancient. Vast. Patient.

"Hm…" the Angel murmured softly, voice echoing through invisible layers of existence. "Who would have thought…"

His smile widened, not cruel, not joyful—simply entertained.

"My brother… my rival for countless millennia… erased by a nameless cultivator from a lower realm."

There was no grief in his tone. No anger. If anything, there was relief—perhaps even satisfaction.

"Fate truly enjoys its little jokes."

For a moment, he simply observed the distant battlefield where the remnants of the Original Demon's domain continued to collapse, reality stitching itself back together as if healing from a nightmare.

"Anyway…" the Angel continued lightly, eyes gleaming, "I suppose I should thank my benefactor."

The instant the thought formed, his pupils shimmered. Within them, a vast matrix of fate unfolded—threads upon threads of karma, destiny, causality, and probability weaving together into a luminous dance. Countless lines extended outward, racing across worlds and timelines, converging toward a single point.

Wang Chen.

The Angel followed the threads calmly, methodically, peeling back layers of destiny that would have laid bare any ordinary existence.

At first, there were clues.

Fragments of past actions.

Echoes of karmic disturbances.

Scars left behind by impossible events.

But then—

Nothing.

Every thread terminated abruptly, severed as if cut by an invisible blade. The fate lines dissolved into emptiness, swallowed by something that did not exist—and therefore could not be traced.

The smile on the Original Angel's face slowly faded.

His brows drew together, eyes darkening with rare seriousness.

"…Blocked?" he murmured.

He pushed further, invoking deeper layers of perception—authorities that had unraveled destinies since before this world had a name.

Still nothing.

It was not obscured.

Not distorted.

Simply absent.

As if Wang Chen's fate had been cleanly excised from the grand ledger of heaven.

The Angel exhaled slowly.

"…Intriguing."

This was no natural anomaly. No quirk of a lower realm.

Only one explanation fit.

"It seems," he said quietly, dangerous light flashing through his eyes, "that certain powers from the Upper Realm are no longer content to remain spectators."

His gaze sharpened, no longer amused.

"Could it be he is the Trump card they prepared to deal with me..?"

A new variable had entered the game.

One capable of killing Originals.

One hidden even from fate itself.

And for the first time in countless ages, the Original Angel felt something stir within his eternal heart.

However, the Original Angel could understand why.

If that place was truly stirring, if its seals were loosening even slightly, then what followed would shake realms far beyond this one. The legacy of the Dragon Race was not some forgotten myth whispered to frighten children. It was an inheritance that had once rewritten the hierarchy of the Upper Realms, a calamity wrapped in glory.

"Hm…" the Angel murmured, fingers brushing lightly across the threads of space as if in thought. "Then I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on this little brother of mine."

A faint smile returned to his lips, slow and deliberate.

"He may yet deliver another surprise."

And with that, his presence faded, retreating beyond causality itself, leaving no trace behind.

...

"Hmm… he's gone."

Wang Chen finally exhaled, the tension that had been coiled tight around his soul loosening at last. The oppressive, invisible pressure that had lingered just beyond perception evaporated, like a blade withdrawn from his throat at the final moment. Only then did he realize how close he had come to genuine danger.

That thing was watching me far too closely…

Not far away, Zi Han stood frozen, her lips parted in a silent, disbelieving gasp. It took her a full breath before she even remembered to close her mouth. She lifted a hand and rubbed her eyes once. Then again.

No illusion faded.

The scene remained unchanged.

"Fellow Daoist Wang…" she murmured, voice unsteady. "Actually killed the Original Demon…"

And not only that—he had used Destruction Qi.

Her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. Destruction Qi was not something that could simply be found. It was rarer than Creation Qi itself, sealed away in places even the Upper Realm feared to approach. Inevitably, her mind drifted to a single forbidden location.

The Dragon Race inheritance grounds…

The void pockets hidden beyond layered dimensions. The sealed cave that demanded two wielders of One Thought to Cross the World just to enter safely.

Impossible.

It was absolutely impossible for him to have entered that place alone.

No matter how she turned the matter over in her mind, Zi Han could not find an answer. And the more she failed, the deeper her unease grew.

Nearby, the All-Seeing Immortal was no less shaken—though he recovered faster than most. His gaze lingered on Wang Chen for a long moment, complex emotions flickering beneath his composed exterior. As a being tied to time, Wang Chen was already an anomaly. And anomalies, by nature, refused to obey logic.

In the end, the immortal let out a soft chuckle, as if he had already resigned himself to the absurd.

"Creatures of time…" he muttered faintly. "Always so troublesome."

Straightening his back, he resumed his usual calm demeanor, a faint smile returning to his face as though the destruction of an eternal existence were nothing more than an expected inconvenience.

...

Sui Zheng, on the other hand, had not moved at all.

He stood rigid, eyes wide, breath shallow, as the image of the Original Demon's colossal body shattering into nothingness replayed endlessly in his mind. Each repetition sent a fresh chill down his spine.

Exploded… it actually exploded…

Only now did he truly understand how thin the line had been.

A wave of cold sweat broke across his back as a single thought surfaced, unbidden yet painfully clear.

Thank heavens I was careful from the very beginning.

Had he shown even the slightest malice, the slightest arrogance, his end would have mirrored that of the Blood Fang Gang—erased without ceremony, without regret.

Looking at Wang Chen's retreating figure, Sui Zheng lowered his head instinctively, gratitude and fear twisting together in his chest.

Some beings were simply not meant to be offended.

And today, the world had been reminded of that truth.

Although Li Mei had always believed Wang Chen could stand against the Original Demon, what unfolded before her still shattered her expectations. She had braced herself for a drawn-out, world-rending battle, one that would test limits and scorch the heavens. Instead, what she witnessed was annihilation so clean and final that it left her momentarily breathless. The enemy that had pushed her to the brink, that had crushed her body and spirit with its mere presence, had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Lin Huang, however, noticed something far more unsettling.

His eyes narrowed slowly, pupils tightening as the realization settled in.

Master didn't use the Sword Dao.

That truth struck him harder than the demon's death itself. He wasn't surprised that the Original Demon had fallen—by now, he had long accepted that his master operated on a level beyond common sense. What chilled him to the bone was how it had been done. No sword light. No peerless intent cleaving heaven and earth. Wang Chen had relied on something else entirely.

A cold shiver crept down Lin Huang's spine.

That could only mean one thing.

Sword Dao… isn't Master's strongest path.

The implication was terrifying. The sword that Lin Huang had devoted his life to, the Dao he believed could sever all things—his master wielded it casually, almost as an afterthought. If that wasn't Wang Chen's pinnacle, then just how deep did his true foundation run?

Zhao Yufei, on the other hand, seemed untouched by such thoughts. The chaos, the shock, the unspoken terror rippling through the battlefield—none of it reached her. She stared only at Wang Chen, her gaze unwavering, fervent, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes.

This… this is what I wanted to see.

Her hands trembled faintly as emotion welled up inside her chest.

With strength like this… I might finally find my brother.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved her lips.

So the Dao of the Swords wasn't the strongest thing after all.

Master… you were lying the entire time.

Rather than feeling betrayed, excitement bloomed within her heart.

I'll have to convince Grand Master to teach me a few things.

Nearby, Rong Luo and Young Master Yun exchanged a glance. Neither spoke, but the light flickering in their eyes betrayed their thoughts clearly.

This might be the greatest opportunity of our lives.

...

From the far reaches of the battlefield, Demon King Rufus watched everything unfold, his three eyes narrowed to razor-thin slits. The shock froze him in place, his breath coming shallow and uneven.

The pillar he had relied on—the very existence that symbolized the inevitable downfall of humanity—had been crushed as effortlessly as a chicken under a butcher's blade.

Just who… is this man?

Fear clawed at Rufus's heart, squeezing it with invisible fingers. For the first time in countless years, the thought of conquest vanished from his mind, replaced entirely by survival.

No… against a monster like this, there's no hope.

Humanity could not be destroyed—not now, not like this.

His thoughts raced, grasping desperately for a future where he still lived.

I must endure. Retreat. Hide.

Wait for the right opportunity… perhaps when the Dragon Race's hidden resurgence begins.

The moment that decision crystallized, Rufus acted without hesitation. Silent orders rippled through the demonic ranks, commands carried through blood and instinct rather than words.

Retreat.

Across the battlefield, the demons began to withdraw, melting away like a tide pulled back by an unseen hand.

The war was over.

And the victor stood alone, calm and unmoved, as if the fall of a Demon King and the erasure of an Original Existence were nothing more than a trivial inconvenience.

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