Muya Sovereign had indeed not lied.
His Lightning divine clone truly was roaming Hell—and had indeed registered as a Five-Star Fiend within the Fiend Castle.
But unlike Bloodpeak Sovereign Pax, Muya's interpretation of Locke was entirely different.
Pax believed Locke was backed by a Sovereign—hence the systematic classification of Fiend ranks.
Muya, however, leaned toward another conclusion:
Locke himself was a Sovereign's divine clone.
His reasoning was simple—Locke's rate of growth.
Muya had observed, via divine sense, Locke's battle against the Bloodriver Prefecture Lord.
At that time, Locke had clearly displayed Shura-level strength.
Yet a mere thousand years earlier, when fighting Kurus of Yemu Prefecture, he had only possessed Seven-Star Fiend power.
To fuse one additional Profound Mystery within a thousand years—
Even Muya could only accomplish such a feat when fueled by vast faith power.
Thus, Muya concluded:
Locke must be a Sovereign's divine clone, constructing Fiend Castle to harvest faith and strengthen his main Sovereign body.
Furthermore—
Locke's soul aura did not match any Sovereign in Hell.
Which implied an even greater possibility:
He belonged to another Divine Plane.
Building such a force within his native plane would quickly expose him to rival Sovereigns.
Hell, therefore, was a safer harvesting ground.
As Muya pondered, he felt a surge of faith power flood his soul.
Pax had delivered.
Without hesitation, Muya poured the faith into his Lightning divine clone's soul-space.
Instantly—
He sank into the intoxicating acceleration of Profound Mystery fusion.
Three Thousand Years Later
Locke certified three more Prefecture Lords as Six-Star Fiends.
Beyond that, he devoted himself almost entirely to cultivation.
The expansion of Fiend Castle caused his Fate divine clone to grow stronger day by day.
After three thousand years—
Though no single continent was fully covered, at least half the cities across Hell now possessed Fiend Castles.
The remaining half were under rapid construction.
Under such momentum—
Even excluding divine power strength—
His Fate divine clone had reached Six-Star Fiend level in Law comprehension alone.
After certifying the third Prefecture Lord, Locke's Water divine clone quietly departed the prefectural capital.
He purchased vast quantities of amethysts from various Amethyst Castles, concealed his soul aura, and returned silently to Blackstone Tribe.
No one there possessed the ability to detect him.
"Almost time."
Locke opened his eyes.
His Water clone merged back into him.
Then—
Streams of Profound Mysteries formed complex arrays, sealing his cultivation chamber.
Magic formations.
A lesser-known cultivation path within the Coiling Dragon Universe.
They simulated the operation of natural laws to produce powerful external effects.
But they were tools, not inherent strength.
Within one's own formation, one could be terrifying.
Outside it—
Ordinary.
Thus, formation study had never been mainstream.
Yet no one could deny the terror of a true master.
As for understanding the workings of the universe—
Locke dared claim that even Sovereigns could not surpass him.
The formation he constructed isolated the chamber entirely.
A microcosmic world.
After testing it briefly, he nodded.
Now—
He would begin.
Soul mutation.
Through extensive research, Locke had reached a critical conclusion:
The more stable the soul, the harder mutation became.
Weaker souls mutated more easily.
Once one reached Paragon and gained Willpower—
Mutation would become impossible.
Willpower was the most stable force in the universe.
With Fiend Castle's expansion rate—
His Fate clone would reach Paragon within a few thousand years.
If he waited—
It would be too late.
With a wave—
Amethysts filled the chamber.
Soul flames ignited, refining the chaotic soul energy within.
Pile after pile dissolved.
The chamber filled with dense violet mist.
The formation prevented leakage.
Eventually—
The mist condensed into droplets.
Liquid soul power pooled before him.
Locke closed his eyes.
He began altering his own soul.
Or rather—
He cast upon himself the most terrifying illusion he had ever created.
He named it:
Hell.
But not Hell of the Highest Plane.
Rather—
The mythological Hell from his first life.
The Eye of Hell.
It contained the Eighteen Hells:
Tongue-Ripping Hell.
Scissor Hell.
Iron Tree Hell.
Mirror of Karma Hell.
Steaming Hell.
Pillar of Fire Hell…
Within the illusion—
Time perception distorted.
Each layer multiplied subjective time tenfold.
External one second equaled:
1 second in Tongue-Ripping Hell
10 seconds in Scissor Hell
100 seconds in Iron Tree Hell
1,000 seconds in Mirror Hell…
By the eighteenth layer—
One external second equaled over 3.2 billion years of torment.
"AH—!"
Locke screamed once.
Then fell silent.
His soul power began to dissipate rapidly.
The preparations activated.
Vast refined soul energy surged into him, preventing collapse.
Within the illusion—
His soul hovered at the edge of life and death.
And under such pressure—
It began to change.
He opened his eyes.
They were empty.
Like a puppet.
Long moments passed.
Gradually—
A glimmer returned.
"I… survived…"
His voice was hoarse.
Had he not left himself a hidden exit within the illusion—
He would have perished.
"Illusion… illusion…"
"The essence of illusion is deception."
He had known this since his first life.
Later, through the Mist Illusion Profound Mystery, he created techniques like Celestial Dance Treasure Wheel, stripping away the five senses.
With greater soul mastery, he could truly deprive them.
But now—
After personally enduring his own ultimate technique—
He understood deception anew.
Who says deception must be false?
If a man born bloodthirsty deceives the world by never killing—
Is that deception false?
No.
It becomes truth.
Even one who reverses spacetime could not uncover his "original nature."
He deceived the world itself.
When illusion can deceive the world—
It ceases to be illusion.
It becomes reality.
Though Locke knew it was false—
Endure something long enough—
And false becomes real.
Eighteen layers.
Cycle after cycle.
From detached observer—
To condemned prisoner.
From mild discomfort—
To soul-rending agony.
Three point two billion years in a second.
Without the backdoor—
Without oceans of soul energy—
He would have died.
But he survived.
And survival meant gain beyond measure.
His greatest harvest—
The Eye of Hell.
Having personally endured it—
Its power multiplied thousands of times.
Now—
He could project the suffering he experienced directly into another's soul.
Not merely illusion—
But transplanted torment.
The boundary between deception and reality—
Had begun to blur.
And within that blur—
His soul continued to evolve.
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