The battlefield erupted into chaos.
At the center of it all, a powerful woman with pale silver eyes and strange glowing marks on her face raised both arms. She summoned a storm of ice-covered meteors—each one forged from the frozen thoughts of long-dead elders. The meteors crashed down in a wide arc, exploding with psychic force and cold energy.
But she wasn't alone for long.
Three men from the Crimson Execution Court—deadly cultivators known for wielding twin blades—charged at her from three directions. They moved with perfect coordination, slashing with curved swords glowing red from cursed energy. Each blade strike left behind trails of corrosion that could cut through armor and soul alike.
Above them, a mechanical cultivator known as a technopriest activated a large array of golden gears floating around him. These gears were engraved with ancient runes and spun faster than the eye could follow. He released them in a wave, and they shot down like a rain of razors, cutting into anything in their path while generating bursts of heat and cold.
Not far away, a necrotic hive-master roared. His back cracked open, revealing a pulsating nest. From it came hundreds of insect-like creatures—void-born mantis spirits. They were small, fast, and impossibly sharp. The swarm flooded the battlefield in seconds, and wherever they touched, minds screamed and collapsed. One world king tried to fight back, unleashing his aura in all directions. But the insects tore through his spiritual defenses instantly. His body was shredded in moments.
Amid all this, Asher walked forward.
He didn't hurry. He didn't look worried. His long cloak moved with the breeze from distant explosions, but he didn't even glance at the chaos. His eyes were half-closed, and his footsteps were calm. Yet the area around him distorted—space shimmered, and blood energy started to build in the air.
Three fighters spotted him and moved to intercept.
The first was a master of wind blades, a man from the Sundered Sky Sect. He floated into the air and formed two giant curved blades from compressed hurricane winds. These blades could slice through mountains with ease.
The second was a druid who controlled venom and spirit energy. She hurled out a cluster of thorn-covered vines. Each vine was filled with soul venom—poison that could attack bloodlines and weaken someone's very foundation.
The third was a beastkin—part tiger, part dragon—whose body pulsed with raw physical power. He was incredibly fast, closing the distance in a blink, claws already aimed at Asher's chest.
Asher didn't stop walking.
He placed his left foot on the ground—and the ground beneath him turned red. Crimson crystal patterns spread outward in every direction. A deep pulse of blood energy filled the space as Asher activated the first stage of his unique power:
Old war sigils appeared along his arms and spine, glowing red. The wind blades hit an invisible field and shattered. The vines crumbled into ash before reaching him. And the beastkin? He got close—but in the next second, Asher was gone.
He reappeared behind the beastkin, one arm buried into the creature's back.
"You're too slow," Asher said quietly.
The beastkin's body didn't just break—it unraveled. Flesh tore, bones cracked, and even the laws supporting his cultivation snapped apart. In the next second, the beastkin was gone, turned into a cloud of blood and dark mist.
That was the moment everyone turned to face Asher.
Elsewhere, battle formations were collapsing. Three Void Disciples—dressed in robes that shimmered like oil—formed a triangle and activated a technique called Null Domain. Inside the domain, all light, color, and sound disappeared. Reality inside that space started to break down.
Before they could advance, a warlock queen descended from the sky. Her golden crown was split into four shifting rings, each spinning at a different speed. She summoned mirror versions of herself from alternate timelines. Dozens of her moved together, each casting spells from a different future or past. Some of them died instantly. Others kept fighting. But the domain cracked under the pressure of her presence.
Another warrior, an elemental sovereign, lit himself on fire—his entire body turning into molten magma. He flew across the battlefield and hurled massive spears of solar fire, vaporizing hundreds of void mantises. But then the Crystal Saint appeared. Her skin was diamond. Her hair glowed. With a simple gesture, she stopped time around the magma warrior. He froze in place, and the fire around him dimmed. Then his body shattered.
Within minutes, dozens of high-level cultivators were already dead.
This was not a battle where power alone mattered. You needed experience. Intelligence. Special legacies. Sometimes, even madness.
Then, nine sword cultivators stepped forward together.
Each one came from a different ancient sect. Their swords were unique—some made from starlight, others from frozen time or lost gravity. One sword was rumored to cut through memories. Another could kill illusions as if they were real.
They surrounded Asher.
One of them stepped forward and spoke, his voice full of arrogance.
"You're strong, Crimson Sovereign. But even you must fall."
Asher looked at him, unimpressed.
"You think I'm holding back," he replied. "That's your mistake."
Then, his aura surged.
He activated the Second Vein—Bloodlit Dominion.
The sky turned red as huge crimson halos formed behind his back. Six wings made of flowing bloodlight unfolded behind him. His hair rose with energy, glowing bright crimson. His eyes turned black with red centers, devouring light.
The nine swordmasters attacked together.
Each used a different sword path: time, light, flame, shadow, illusion, silence, void, steel, gravity. Every sword strike was precise, powerful, and carried the history of their sects behind it.
Asher responded instantly.
He vanished—then reappeared in nine places at once.
Each of his copies struck a different swordmaster. Blades shattered on impact. Cultivation techniques failed. Several of the swordmasters tried to retreat, but red chains exploded out of their own bodies—chains formed from pieces of their soul and memory, things they didn't even know could be turned against them.
The chains pulled them into the air and held them there, helpless.
Asher raised his hand and closed his fingers.
Their spiritual legacies were torn out of them and absorbed into a swirling vortex of blood energy behind him. They screamed—but the screams were brief.
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He kept walking forward without glancing back.
Only thirteen enemies remained.
The arena was in ruins. Platforms had broken apart and floated as debris. Magical formations were cracked. Burning spell residue hung in the air like fog. Pieces of heaven, hell, and other realms drifted around, like broken ornaments.
Valeris stood on a balcony, watching.
"He's not even using his full strength," she said.
Veyra stood beside her, quiet. "He's waiting," she said. "For the real opponents to arrive."
And now… they finally did.