Within the Wheel-Sea, the two fragments of the Immortal Ruler lay dormant, flowing with a faint misty green radiance, appearing very peaceful.

For Ye Fan to have made his move at this moment was no different from snatching food from a tiger’s mouth—contending with the Great Sages for the Imperial Weapons, should it be discovered, would result in a catastrophic outcome.

This place had descended into chaos, everyone searching for the Demon Emperor’s Ruler. This kind of object couldn’t be forcibly seized—one could only communicate and connect with it; otherwise even Great Sages would be reduced to dust.

“Amitabha!”

The yellow-browed old monk chanted the Buddha’s name, the Purple-Gold Buddha Bridge beneath his feet extending outward, releasing the purest, most peaceful force of faith, encircling the final remaining fragment of the Immortal Ruler.

The old monk’s cultivation ran deep; his body was enveloped by ring after ring of Buddha-light, lending him a dignified, solemn appearance, with the heavenly Bodhisattvas and ancient Buddhas manifesting above his head.

They chanted the ancient scripture together, communicating with the Demon Emperor’s Ruler, hoping to draw it into Buddhism, to become a protective Dharma-weapon.

“BOOM!”

A great tripod floated and sank—the Primary God from the Divine Organization made his move, driving his weapon. Upon the tripod’s walls appeared various images: ancient primal peoples, flowers, birds, fish, insects, wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, all manifesting at once.

This contained a kind of vitality from when all things first opened, when heaven and earth first split apart, transforming into a stream of immortal essence flowing toward that fragment of the Ruler, attempting to mend it.

“Clang!”

The Black-Robed powerhouse from the Underworld wasn’t willing to fall behind either—the ancient coffin trembled violently, a funeral scripture resounding from within, as if mourning the Demon Emperor, harboring deep reverence.

The various Great Sages all made their moves at once, each employing their own methods, contending for the final fragment of the Ruler. As for where the first four fragments had gone, no one knew—by common logic, they should have fallen into their own hands.

Ye Fan’s brow furrowed slightly. This Blue-Gold ruler fragment was beyond his reach now—several Great Sages were contending for it, and attempting to snatch food from a tiger’s mouth at this moment would likely cause trouble.

“BOOM!”

The old monk from the ancient Amitabha Star Region produced an alms bowl, Buddha-light shining everywhere, its radiance immense. Within it were many Demon-script characters, their forms resembling true dragons, resembling qilins.

The Primary God from the Divine Organization refused to fall behind—atop that great tripod, myriad living beings appeared together, resonating with the Demon Emperor’s Ruler, trying to gain its recognition.

At the same moment, Daoren of a Hundred Calamities sat cross-legged in the void, chanting a Demon scripture—he was a true, ancient demon, blood surging within his body, calling out in the identity of a Demon Clan Great Sage.

In this place, divine winds howled furiously, the various Great Sages each displaying their divine powers, summoning wind and rain, setting up an altar, engaging in a supreme contest.

Ye Fan silently withdrew, leaving Imperial Weapon Mountain along with a large group of cultivators, unwilling to be swept into this final storm, appearing in another ancient region of the mausoleum grounds.

Half a shichen later, the curtain fell—the last fragment of the Ruler had been claimed by someone, and the entire mountainous region returned to calm.

The various Great Sages’ expressions remained cold and indifferent, giving away no trace of their inner feelings; no one knew who had ultimately gained the most in this contest—all five Imperial Weapon fragments had vanished from sight.

“We’re leaving—we won’t press forward.” Some cultivators called out. This place was far too dangerous; they didn’t want to venture deeper into the great Emperor’s mausoleum, fearing they’d die in vain here.

They were scattered cultivators without any powerful leaders. The other armies of the various clans remained relatively calm, without commotion, because they had been mobilized by Clan-Protecting Great Sages.

Wave after wave of powerful spiritual sense swept through, trying to see through the countless cultivators present—some Great Sages, unwilling to let it go, wanted to determine whose hands the Demon Emperor’s Ruler fragments had fallen into.

The various clans’ armies continued on their way, leaving this mountainous region, heading toward another direction, when suddenly an intense, eerie fluctuation swept through.

There, a massive mountain, larger than the stars, spanned across the void, a giant crimson dragon coiled around it, flickering in and out of an ancient cavern.

The Demon Emperor’s mount!

It was precisely that giant crimson dragon that had manifested earlier, dwelling here, right behind Imperial Weapon Mountain in the celestial firmament. Its vast fluctuation stilled everyone present; even the Great Sages felt their hearts tremble, facing it with great caution.

“Nephew, don’t forget your old uncle!” Daoren of a Hundred Calamities’ eyes were sharp—he immediately spotted Long Ma, floating and sinking within that dragon cavern, wreathed in wisps of dragon-energy.

The various Great Sages fell silent for a moment. Upon closer observation this time, they discovered the crimson dragon wasn’t a true living body, but rather an undying essence-energy, wrapped around a lingering imprint.

It wasn’t a living creature at all—merely a trace left behind by the Demon Emperor’s mount.

Thinking it through, this made sense. Even a generation’s Demon Emperor had faded away in obscurity—how could his mount possibly still be alive now? It must have long since become dust within the ages.

This mountain-body was shaped very much like an ancient tomb, specifically built to bury the crimson dragon, suspended between heaven and earth, towering and majestic.

In fact, this mount had died before the Demon Emperor himself. No matter how heaven-defying it was, it wasn’t an Emperor—it couldn’t possibly have lived as long, unable to accompany the Demon Emperor through his final years, through his campaign on the Immortal Path.

Long ago, it was the Demon Emperor himself who had buried his mount, dead of old age, in the yellow earth, erecting a monument for it here.

After long ages passed, another dragon-horse appeared, stirring the remaining essence-energy left within the great tomb of the crimson dragon, rushing toward its kin, the two merging together.

One could say this was a stroke of fortune for Long Ma, something ordinary beings couldn’t obtain—this was an inheritance from the same kind, a mental cultivation method left for the dragon-horse clan’s ancestor, one that the Demon Emperor himself had once refined and improved.

The assembled heroes envied him—even obtaining a fragment of the Immortal Ruler didn’t seem as great a gain as Long Ma’s—an inheritance spanning eternity, bathed in the crimson dragon’s essence-energy.

What made it all the more helpless was that it was difficult to approach—that place bore the imprint of the dragon-horse clan, something ordinary beings couldn’t touch.

“RUMBLE!”

A great river roared, a corpse-river bursting forth from the ancient veins in the distance—this was the Yellow Springs. The crowd tried to avoid it, wanting to explore other regions first, but in the end they encountered it anyway.

This turbid yellow river wound through nine bends and eighteen turns, flowing through this mountain range and many parts of the ancient region, cutting through the entire mausoleum grounds.

To call this merely a great tomb would be an understatement—this was a genuine world complete with mountains, rivers, and all things. There were ancient herbs rooted between rock crevices, great peaks towering above the clouds…

“Roar!” A long howl echoed out, and from the upstream reaches of the corpse-river came a heart-rending cry—a creature with bat-like wings and a body like a demonic ape flew across the sky.

“That’s a corpse-wraith!” an old cultivator cried out in alarm.

This was a creature born only in the most extreme yin-energy wastelands of primordial times, utterly evil and malevolent, a kind of fierce ghoul, the most ferocious and unrestrained of all.

“Not just one—there’s a whole swarm!”

People cried out in alarm—this was a large tribe, some entirely covered in white fur without wings, resembling ancient corpses flying wild through the sky. Others had purple bodies, covered in dense scales, bearing horns and demonic wings.

These were all corpse-wraiths, carrying overwhelming death-energy, howling as they passed, causing mountains to crumble and seas and rivers to boil.

“Chant the scriptures!” the Human Clan’s Dao Guardian ordered.

Before entering, people had already anticipated that a mausoleum like this would likely breed creatures born of yin-energy, and these might be extremely powerful, ones that even the Sutra of Deliverance couldn’t dissolve.

Dozens to hundreds of divisions of troops all chanted the scriptures together, differing considerably from the scripture Ye Fan recited—this wasn’t the complete, flawless Sutra of Deliverance.

In fact, even the version Ye Fan had obtained on Earth wasn’t complete either—only the one chanted by that human-body, ghost-faced lamp held the most original scriptural essence, something he only discovered later through comparison.

Cry after cry echoed out, the corpse-river surging violently, actually forcing creature after eerie creature up out of the water—some disheveled, hair streaming wild, others covered in ferocious scales and armor, all radiating death-energy.

The masses chanted their scriptures, streaks of scripture-light emanating out into the void, appearing to these creatures like a heavenly tribulation, terrifying them, forcing them to resist.

“Roar…”

An overwhelming howl echoed out—from the very upstream of the corpse-river flew several creatures of strange appearance, each resembling a Thunder God, their entire bodies flickering with faint golden light from their fur.

These were flesh and blood born from corpse-energy, transformed into yin-spirits and the like, each one extremely terrifying, their gaze tearing through the void, unafraid even facing Great Sages.

A thunderous boom sounded, heaven and earth collapsing as the yin-spirits collided and clashed, doing battle with the assembled Sages—even the Ox Demon King, as powerful as he was, nearly fell victim to their assault.

He was caught in a pincer attack by two yin-spirits from front and back; had the Vajra Pestle not unleashed its power, he would have truly been in danger. Everyone’s expressions changed drastically, no longer daring to let their attention wander, the various Great Sages advancing together, attacking forward.

Blood-blossom after blood-blossom burst forth, a fierce battle unfolding. The other armies of the various clans continued chanting their scriptures, transforming into streaks of divine light, striking down at these corpse-wraiths.

The great battle had erupted so suddenly—from the upstream of that corpse-river came several beings resembling Thunder Gods, their golden fur gleaming brilliantly, their combat power astonishing, able to contend on equal footing with the Great Sages.

The Yellow Springs roared on, terrifying howls echoing without end, more and more yin-spirits emerging, attacking and killing the crowd.

The sound of chanted scriptures mixed with ghostly wails and divine roars, all manner of sounds intertwining—this place was in uproar, yin-energy and life-energy coexisting, transforming into a flow of yin-yang dual energy.

Everyone’s hearts sank, including the Great Sages, whose expressions turned grave—this was the mausoleum of the ancient Emperor, and now they were witnessing so many corpse-ghouls in succession—absolutely no good omen.

They didn’t dare imagine further—if the Emperor’s corpse itself underwent some heaven-defying transformation, then it wouldn’t just be them in danger; even if the strongest beings of all heavens and myriad realms came together, it would be of no use!

“Form the formation—use the supreme scriptures to deliver the corpse-chaos of this world,” one Dao Guardian roared.

Great banners fluttered in the wind, and people began setting up a slaughter-formation, exterminating the yin-spirits while continuing to chant scriptures without pause, launching a vast campaign.

“BOOM!”

The great battle began in earnest, the assembled heroes attacking, Dao-patterns densely covering the void, weaving together into a net of destruction descending upon the corpse-wraiths.

At the same time, the chanting of scriptures grew even more resounding, as if the gods themselves were singing in chorus, streak after streak of divine and demonic apparitions standing above the ninth heaven.

“It’s time,” Ye Fan murmured to himself, silently withdrawing without a trace. Everyone else was held in check here, and now, with the energy-storm surging violently, it was the perfect moment to save Pang Bo from his confinement.

The tripod above Ye Fan’s head floated and sank, pouring down the Root Qi of All Things’ Mother, along with a waterfall-like stream of pure faith-power flowing out, using this to shield himself, blocking the various divine lights’ annihilating attacks, crossing the corpse-river, and withdrawing from the Imperial Mausoleum.

Then he retrieved the formation platforms he had prepared in advance, arranging them in the void, constructing a massive Domain Gate.

Within the mausoleum, yin and yang dual energies flowed, transforming into unceasing streams of black and white power, which Ye Fan drew forth, then laid down dozens of formation arrays to stabilize and construct the passage.

Of course, all of this had been prepared in advance—otherwise there wouldn’t have been time to arrange it on the spot.

The Great Sages battled the yin-spirits, the masses fought against the yin-ghouls in chaotic melee, slaughter-formations sprang up throughout the great tomb-world, all manner of the most violent forces colliding chaotically, surging forth in turbulent waves.

Ye Fan didn’t delay, for there wasn’t a single minute to spare—he had to seize this fleeting opportunity, drawing away this most terrifying force.

The spatial coordinates had already been set in advance; the fully-constructed Domain Gate passage blazed with brilliant light, the violent force rushing straight in.

“BOOM!”

This chaotic storm burst forth, striking directly at an ancient continent—precisely the place where Pang Bo was trapped. In an instant, mountains and rivers shattered, stars themselves trembling.

“He’s really come—he wants to rescue that man named Pang Bo who’s trapped there!” Someone spoke coldly in secret, upon that ancient continent.

“The Sacred Body of the Buried Emperor Star has finally arrived!” In another location, a blurred, shadowy apparition appeared, its gaze icy cold.

At this moment, no small number of people were alarmed, having waited for a long time already, for they had expected he would surely appear.

Only, no one had expected he would draw forth such a violent force, striking against the ancient Emperor’s false tomb, making all living beings tremble.

“Has the Lord come out? Has he left the true burial chamber of the ancient Emperor?” One faction was clearly revealed to be the Qilin Sacred Envoy, the Vermilion Bird Sacred Envoy, and others.

At the same time, the true mausoleum of the Demon Emperor cracked open, the corpse-river surging violently, and more figures rushed out.

Before the ancient continent where Pang Bo was trapped, Ye Fan sneered coldly, his heart sensing something—aware that some extremely formidable experts were secretly closing in.