Jin Chixiao, the purple-robed young man, and the others had come to ambush and kill Ye Fan, intent on seizing the exceptionally rare divine substance of dragon marrow — and they did so with complete confidence.
“Purple dragon marrow is extraordinarily rare in this world. That bottle of divine liquid is worth over four million pounds of source — you really are a timely blessing, knowing just how much we need it.” One of them gave a half-smile.
“Twelve drops of divine liquid among seven people — this is going to be a bit difficult to divide.” Another spoke with cool nonchalance, utterly at ease — he had already considered Ye Fan as prey.
Jin Chixiao was unhurried and composed, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced slowly — as though everything was in his grasp. “He may well have other precious items on him. We can take inventory afterward.”
The purple-robed young man beside him was equally calm and steady, glancing at Ye Fan with light indifference. “Subdue him first — then we can decide.”
“Do you really think I’m a soft persimmon that you can squeeze any way you like?” Ye Fan gave a cold snort and walked forward, step by step pressing toward the group.
At this moment he had no fear of Jin Chixiao and the others. His only concern was those four old men — all of whom had surpassed the Dragon Transformation realm and were Supreme Elder-level figures of the Sacred Ground tier.
“With four elders present, you still want to resist? You truly do not know death!” One of them jeered, shaking his head with a cold smile.
Jin Chixiao, the purple-robed young man, and the others stepped back. They had no intention of personally engaging — they wanted the four Supreme Elders to crush him dead, remaining very cautious.
“This morning, when we met in that small restaurant, we did not yet know you were a cultivator. Now, to revisit the topic — if you would lead our horses and attend to our stirrups, we might consider sparing your life.”
“Someone like this can’t be trusted in service. If he agrees to cripple his own cultivation, perhaps — but if he wants to live, he had better bow his head and beg for mercy first. I enjoy watching people submit.”
The seven stood at a distance, composed and unhurried, speaking words of humiliation. Perched on rocky outcroppings and looking down at him, each wore a faint cold smile at the corner of their lips.
“All you can do is talk. You don’t even have the courage to fight me yourselves — and yet you had to invite four old fossils to do the work for you.” Ye Fan sneered coldly. “The way I see it, no matter where you go from now on, you’ll always need to bring a dry-father or a dry-grandfather along with you.”
One of them wore a face of frost. “Soon you’ll see just how amusing this gets. You’ll be on your knees begging, wishing you were dead rather than alive.”
Another said in a cold, dark tone, “You are nothing more than someone at the Third Transformation of the Dragon Transformation. Everyone present is stronger than you — we simply can’t be bothered to make a move ourselves.”
Ye Fan paid them no heed and instead looked toward the four old men. “Four honored elder brothers — are these seven people your grandchildren?”
One of them instinctively shook his head, then caught himself and said with a darkened face, “You enjoy the use of your tongue.”
Behind him, Jin Chixiao and the others all stiffened. One of them said in a frigid voice, “Taking advantage of us with your words — soon you’ll be dying on your knees.”
“So they have nothing to do with you four — then whose grandchildren are they? Whoever their grandfathers are, why didn’t their own grandfathers come?” Ye Fan laughed.
The seven were all of extraordinary backgrounds — when had they ever been mocked like this? One stepped forward, his eyes cold and vicious. “I’ll fight him personally — I intend to take home a slave with my own hands.”
“Why lower yourself to his level? Have the four elders crush him dead — there’s no need to stain our hands with his blood.” Jin Chixiao shook his head — a veiled attempt to restrain him, fearful that something unexpected might happen.
“Unless I personally force him to his knees, I feel like something’s missing — I’m deeply unsettled!” The young man kept talking as he stepped forward, his palm gleaming crystalline as a golden three-pronged trident appeared within it.
Whoosh!
The golden three-pronged trident — barely an inch long in his hand — expanded until it stood three meters tall. Its cold light was desolate and piercing, with golden divine light flowing across it, brilliance streaming in all directions, ten thousand rays of auspicious light.
This was an ancient weapon woven through with the laws of heaven and earth. Held in his hand, waves of killing light rolled forth one after another like a crashing ocean.
“Elders, please stand back — allow me to personally take a slave!” He strode forward, stepped past the four old men, and entered the field.
Ye Fan stood there with perfect calm, saying nothing — but he was ready to make his move.
“It is not too late to kneel now. I will spare your life.” This was the young lord of an extremely powerful and ancient great family from the Northern Plains, his cultivation at the Fourth Transformation of the Dragon Transformation.
“Since you are seeking death, allow me to send you on your way!” Ye Fan finally moved. His form was fluid and drifting — like a banished immortal soaring through the air — light and graceful yet blindingly fast, swift to the extreme.
Hiss!
The young lord gripped the golden trident and brought it cleaving down with force. Around him it was like a golden ocean — dazzling and ferocious, with ten thousand rays of killing light.
Ye Fan’s left hand transformed into a golden celestial stele; his right hand transformed into a golden grinding disc, covered in glowing inscriptions — as though two divine scriptures had been carved upon them.
Clang! Clang!
Two harsh metallic collisions rang out. The golden celestial stele and the grinding disc struck the golden divine weapon descending in a vertical cleave — sparks flew in all directions, cutting through gold and splitting stone.
The trident’s radiance dimmed in an instant. Two of its prong blades were struck off, leaving only the central peak — transforming the great halberd into a golden war spear.
Behind him, every face changed color. Ye Fan had shattered a law-woven weapon with his bare hands — the shock struck everyone, and there was no time to intervene.
Whoosh!
Ye Fan’s speed was incomprehensible. The golden grinding disc formed by his right hand came smashing downward, its countless inscriptions pulsing and surging with mystery — as though it was expounding upon an ancient scripture.
The young lord paled with shock. He had never imagined a person’s physical body could be this powerful — the golden divine weapon’s blade had been shattered, and the opponent was now right before him.
Crash!
He had no choice but to counter hastily: he abandoned the near-range “war spear” — impossible to wield at such close quarters — and retreated while blocking with both arms, buying himself a moment.
Splat!
But the moment his arms rose, Ye Fan destroyed them. Both his arms were shattered inch by inch, along with his two hands, dissolving into a great spray of bloody mist.
Crash!
Ye Fan’s left hand pressed down — a golden celestial stele with primordial patterns densely inscribed upon it, pressing downward with crushing force.
The young lord gave a great cry. He could not block it. His body was driven straight downward — like a mountain pressing down — bearing a pressure he could not withstand. His body bent under it.
Thud!
He could not stop it. Pressed until he could not move, his legs nearly snapping, the moment his knees buckled — involuntarily, uncontrollably — he knelt upon the ground. It was a humiliating posture.
Just moments ago he had been declaring that he would make Ye Fan kneel before him — and yet in a single exchange he had been beaten to his knees, even worse than being killed.
“And you thought you could make me your slave?!” Ye Fan slapped a single palm downward. The golden celestial stele reduced the young lord’s skull instantly to a crushed watermelon.
Then he took the golden war spear — what had once been the trident — and stepped back. The young lord’s corpse remained in its kneeling posture, though his head had been obliterated.
Those behind him had no time to intervene. The four old men lunged forward like tigers and wolves, unleashing a sea of magical power that covered everything with brilliance, seeking to refine and suppress Ye Fan — but all they captured was a fading afterimage. In the space of a hair’s breadth, Ye Fan had broken through.
“Give me back my elder brother’s life!” From a distance came a young man whose face had gone iron-gray. He brought out a purple bronze gourd — and the moment its stopper was pulled out, it inhaled and devoured the ten directions like a whale drinking the sea.
Ye Fan gripped the golden war spear and charged forward, his form seemingly compressed — he shot straight for the mouth of the gourd and was on the verge of being drawn inside.
But at this very moment, his body suddenly shook violently. Like a dragon whipping its tail, he leaped high, instantly expanding — and the golden war spear in his hand thrust forward.
Crack!
The golden war spear drove straight into the gourd’s mouth, pierced through from the bottom, and the gourd’s divine tip proved unstoppable — the purple bronze gourd shattered into several pieces.
Splat!
After the golden war spear pierced through the purple bronze gourd, its point was even faster than before. Golden light blazed, and it drove straight into this person’s chest — and blood burst forth in a torrent.
“Ahh…” The young man cried out. His chest was pierced front to back, his five viscera all ruptured, his divine soul badly wounded.
Ye Fan stood in the field like a divine demon, the golden war spear held in one hand with this figure hoisted aloft — then he gave it a hard shake. Splat. Blood sprayed. The body came apart into four or five pieces, scattering in all directions.
Chunks of flesh and bone fell amid great quantities of blood. This person’s divine soul was extinguished. The golden war spear dripped with blood. Ye Fan’s black hair billowed loose; he gripped the spear and strode forward without pause.
“This is…” Everyone was stunned. Such methods — swift, clean, and terrifying.
Ye Fan advanced. Each step he took, the earth shuddered once beneath it — as though a titan were moving. The golden war spear in his hand was raised toward heaven, blood flowing down its length. His black hair hung like a waterfall. He was like an ancient war god.
Hiss! Hiss!
The sound of pierced air came — the four old men rushed forward and unleashed a boundless sea of magical power once more. Light flooded all directions, drowning heaven and earth, seeking to refine and suppress Ye Fan.
But all they were left with was an afterimage. Ye Fan’s speed was too great — as though he moved through an ancient time, separated from the present age, untouched by what reached for him.
He raised the golden war spear, covering a hundred paces in a single stride, charging straight at Jin Chixiao and the others. His black hair swirled in every direction, killing intent shaking all eight directions — like a god broken free of chains, bursting forth from the depths of hell.
The remaining five young powerhouses all changed color. Their opponent surged forward like a dragon, a powerful aura crashing upon them — every single one was forced to resist with everything they had.
“Ahh…”
One of them cried out — the same one who had jeered that Ye Fan was delivering the purple dragon source to them as a gift. He now raised a Heavenly Net Umbrella above him, shielding himself behind it.
Hum!
The void quaked violently, like a piece of tattered cloth buffeted in a raging wind, turbulent and unceasing.
Ye Fan gripped the golden war spear and swung it like a heavenly blade — holding it in both hands, he brought it down in a vertical cleave, trailing an overwhelming tide of golden divine light that swallowed the earth.
Crack!
Ye Fan brought the golden war spear down in a sweeping strike — unstoppable and irresistible — cleaving the law-woven Heavenly Net Umbrella clean in two, the cut edge perfectly smooth and even.
“Ahh…”
This young powerhouse cried out. A crack appeared at the center of his brow, from which blood bloomed. His eyes filled with terror.
Splat!
Ye Fan’s golden war spear was no different from a heavenly blade. Even as it finished cleaving the Heavenly Net Umbrella, the spear point drove into this person’s skull.
Blood surged wildly. He brought it down with force — the golden spear point like a bolt of lightning — bisecting this person’s body as it clove the Heavenly Net Umbrella, perfectly symmetrical.
A great wash of blood rushed outward as both halves of the body toppled in opposite directions, faces written with dread, eyes brimming with boundless panic.
Crash!
The two halves of the bisected corpse fell to the ground on either side. Ye Fan stood between them, his hair ink-black, the golden war spear in his hand gleaming ever more brilliantly under the sunlight as the blood flowed down it — like a divine demon standing there.