The Seven Cloud Convergence World, true to its name, was composed of seven incomprehensibly vast landmasses. Each continent was a world unto itself, so enormous that the distance between them alone could consume a cultivator's entire lifespan.

For most Foundation Building cultivators, crossing from one landmass to another through raw flight was nothing more than a fantasy. Even if they spent their whole lives traveling without rest, many would die long before reaching the edge of the next continent.

And yet—

It was still strangely common to see Foundation Building cultivators roaming across the entire world.

The reason lay not in individual strength, but in infrastructure.

Massive long-distance teleportation formations crisscrossed the Seven Cloud Convergence World like invisible arteries, linking distant continents together. These formations were not built by sects or empires, but by a singular neutral power: the Blacksmith Association.

The Blacksmith Association was an enormous organization that provided weapons, formations, artifacts, and logistical support to almost every major power in the world. Nothing came free, of course. Their prices were infamous, bordering on extortion, but no one dared to openly oppose them.

There were even persistent rumors that the Blacksmith Association was merely a lower-realm branch of a far greater power—the Divine Blacksmith Association of the Upper Realm.

A few years ago, Wang Chen would have dismissed such claims as tavern gossip.

Now?

He wasn't so sure.

He possessed a Realm Gate—a treasure capable of piercing the boundary between realms. If something like that could exist in the Lower Realm, then it stood to reason that there were countless other methods, artifacts, and organizations quietly maintaining connections with the Upper Realm.

From that perspective, the rumors suddenly sounded… reasonable.

What didn't make sense, however, was something else entirely.

Why would these titanic Upper Realm powers bother cultivating influence in the Lower Realm at all?

What possible value could a declining, fragile world offer beings who could reshape heavens with a thought?

That question lingered in Wang Chen's mind as he moved through the cloud-filled sky, white mist parting effortlessly around his figure.

To reach the Soaring Dragon Continent, he technically had two options.

The first was simple.

One Thought to Cross the World.

With a single impulse, he could fold space and arrive at his destination instantly.

Naturally, that was the method he attempted first.

But the moment he tried—

Something resisted.

Space around the Soaring Dragon Continent rippled violently, not collapsing, but rejecting his authority. It felt as though countless invisible threads were woven tightly together, forming a vast, layered obstruction that refused to yield.

A formation.

Not a crude one.

Not something erected by mortal sects.

This was a large-scale spatial suppression array, ancient and refined, actively interfering with long-distance spatial traversal.

Wang Chen's eyes narrowed.

If the resistance had been minor, he would have ignored it entirely and forced his way through. Space, after all, tended to give way when pressured hard enough.

But the instant his consciousness brushed against the formation, he understood—

This was no ordinary obstacle.

This was the real deal.

And bulldozing through it would not be a casual act.

With his first option cut off, Wang Chen had no choice but to look for another path.

The only viable alternative was the Blacksmith Association's long-distance teleportation formations. There was no universe in which he would fly to the Soaring Dragon Continent himself—at his current pace, he might exhaust his lifespan before even seeing its horizon.

That thought made Wang Chen snort quietly in amusement.

No matter how many terrifying techniques he possessed, no matter how many ancient legacies he had inherited, he was still shackled by one cruel limitation.

Lifespan.

Without it, power meant nothing.

If there were a way to trade everything he had—authority, techniques, treasures—for more years to live, he would have done so without hesitation. He wanted to live. To walk through the ages, witness civilizations rise and fall, and peel back every mystery this world tried to hide.

Power was merely a tool for that purpose.

Lost in thought, Wang Chen barely noticed the scenery blurring past him. Clouds parted silently as he moved forward, until the faint speck in the distance expanded into a massive, prosperous city.

The city walls were constructed from engraved azure stone, every block etched with ancient runes. Formation lines flickered faintly in the sky above, weaving together into a vast defensive network.

Wang Chen slowed.

Although he was no formation grandmaster, he could still recognize quality craftsmanship.

This was not merely a defensive formation.

It restricted flight.

That realization was immediately confirmed. The skies were empty—no rogue cultivators soaring freely, no arrogant experts flaunting their strength. The only figures allowed aloft were burly men clad in black, their movements sharp and disciplined as they patrolled the perimeter.

Guards.

Wang Chen nodded faintly, committing everything to memory. As he descended, he noticed a long, orderly line of cultivators waiting at the city gates.

Without drawing attention, he landed lightly and merged into the queue.

The wait was slow.

Painfully so.

Voices around him grew louder as impatience fermented into resentment.

"These Blacksmith Association bastards are truly shameless. The moment demons attacked, they vanished without a trace."

"Now that the Great Phoenix and Dragon Immortal Lord crushed the demons, they crawl back like nothing happened."

"Hah. Not just shameless—greedy. They doubled teleportation fees, claiming 'loss recovery.'"

"If not for my daughter's wedding overseas, I'd rather die than hand over spirit stones to these leeches."

Wang Chen listened quietly, eyes half-lidded.

"Hm. The people aren't happy…" he murmured under his breath.

Wherever he looked, faces were tense. Some were furious, others resigned, but not a single one was smiling.

As the line crawled forward, the complaints only grew louder, bitterness spilling freely into the air.

Then—

A sharp disturbance rippled through the sky.

A figure in black robes descended abruptly, white hair fluttering as he landed atop the gate formation. His presence alone silenced the crowd.

Without preamble, he spoke in a flat, uncaring tone:

"Hm. Today's transportation quota has expired. Disperse and return tomorrow."

No explanation.

No apology.

No room for negotiation.

A wave of outrage surged through the crowd.

Wang Chen's brows slowly knitted together.

This would not do.

He needed to reach the Soaring Dragon Continent today.

There was no time to waste.

After all—

If he arrived only after his disciple had already been beaten into the ground, that would be… unbearably embarrassing.

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