"Mhm. One, two, three, four... so many of you are in such a hurry to go see your families? Don't bother queuing for a number; I'll send you all down right now."
Fu Ye's whisper, though soft, carried through the cavernous hall like a death knell, echoing against the gilded pillars and the marble floor. It was a voice that lacked any heat, purely indifferent, as if he were discussing the disposal of household trash rather than the lives of high-ranking officials.
The ministers blinked, their faces a mix of confusion and mockery. What did this brat just say? They were ready to hurl insults back, to call for his head on a silver platter, but then...
Thud!Thud!Thud!
The sounds were heavy, like wet sacks of grain hitting the floor. The officials who had been barking the loudest just moments ago suddenly collapsed. Their bodies went limp, eyes rolling back, as if they had fallen into a deep, eternal sleep. Nearby colleagues tentatively nudged them with their boots, but there was no response.
One brave official reached out a trembling finger to check the breath of those on the ground. His face turned pale, and his eyes bulged in horror.
"They... they're all dead!! Your Majesty, they're dead!!"
A eunuch's shrill scream finally shattered the suffocating silence. He scrambled backward on all fours, his silk robes trailing in the dust.
But the royal family wasn't defenseless. From the deepest shadows of the hall, dozens of swift figures lunged forward. These were the elite shadows of the empire. The leader was an 87th Rank Spirit Douluo, his aura sharp as a blade, followed by several high-level Spirit Emperors. In any other context, this force could level a city.
In Fu Ye's eyes, however? Spirit Douluo? Spirit Emperor? How were they any different from common flies buzzing around a banquet?
Clink, clink, clink...
Dugu Bo had long since retreated to the farthest corner of the hall, essentially booking a VIP front-row seat for the carnage. He didn't even bother worrying about Fu Ye's safety. In a room where this monster stood, the "danger" was Fu Ye himself; everyone else was just an accidental victim waiting to happen.
The attackers' blades struck Fu Ye's body, but instead of blood, there was only the sound of metal hitting something impossibly hard. Fu Ye didn't even bother to dodge. The Dragon God Scales that permanently coated his skin were the ultimate armor—invisible to the naked eye under normal circumstances, but impenetrable to the "garbage" of this world.
"Hehe. Two Spirit Douluos, three Spirit Saints, and seven or eight Spirit Emperors? It seems the Heaven Dou Empire's pool of 'experts' is quite shallow," Fu Ye mused.
Suddenly, his golden pupils shifted, swirling into a mesmerizing Nine-Colored radiance. A majestic, ancient pressure—a sliver of the Dragon God's true divinity—erupted from him, washing over every soul in the room.
Dugu Bo, watching from the sidelines, felt a shiver of nostalgia. Yes, that's the one! This is the exact same terrifying aura he used when he was stepping on my face!
Plop!Plop!Plop!
The sound of knees hitting marble became a rhythmic percussion. Under the weight of that draconic majesty, every minister and guard in the hall was forced into a kowtow position, their foreheads pressed against the cold stone. Emperor Xue Ye, whose personal cultivation was only at the Spirit King level, felt as if a mountain had been dropped onto his shoulders. He was pinned to his dragon throne, unable to move even a finger.
"Xue Ye, look. All your subjects are kneeling. Why do you dare remain seated?"
Fu Ye rose elegantly from his sofa. He walked slowly, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. Each step he took toward the throne seemed to double the pressure on the Emperor.
Step. Step. Step.
Xue Ye's body began to groan under the strain. His regal robes were stretched taut, and his frame was being compressed into a twisted, awkward posture against the gold-leafed wood of the throne.
"I asked a question, Emperor Xue Ye. Why aren't you kneeling?"
Fu Ye didn't wait for an answer—he knew the man couldn't speak even if he wanted to. He let his gaze wander, thinking for a moment of Xiao Wu, Zhuqing, and the other girls back at the hotel. They deserved the best, didn't they? And this "corrupt" empire clearly had too much gold lying around.
"The actions of your imperial family have seriously disturbed my daily life and the peace of my team's girls. As compensation, you will pay us Five Billion Gold Spirit Coins. As for the 'mental distress' fee... tsk, I'm a merciful man. I'll waive that for now."
Xue Ye nearly vomited blood. Five billion! That would practically hollow out the national treasury! It was no different from asking for his life.
"But before we talk business, I want you to recognize your mistakes. Kowtow until I am satisfied to show your sincerity," Fu Ye said, casually withdrawing the pressure.
"Hah... hah... cough, cough!!"
The sudden return of oxygen made Xue Ye gasp. He was a King, but in the face of a being that made Spirit Saints look like ants, his "royal dignity" was a joke.
"Tsk, you're not very sincere, are you old man? Maybe it's time for a change in dynasty. I should just kill—"
Before Fu Ye could finish, a frantic sound filled the hall.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Xue Ye was slamming his head against the floor with desperate ferocity. "I was wrong! I was wrong! I shouldn't have troubled Your Excellency! It was all the fault of my foolish brother! I promise to hand him over to you personally! Please, just... treat me like a fart and let me go!"
Yes, the Emperor had knelt. He was kowtowing fast and hard, his crown clattering on the floor.
Dugu Bo watched with immense satisfaction. This was a once-in-a-century event! The arrogant Emperor, reduced to a trembling mess. In a world of cultivators, a monarch was only as strong as the experts he could command. And Fu Ye had just proven that the "experts" were nothing.
I wonder if Qian Daoliu would do the same if he felt like snatching one of Xue Ye's concubines? Fu Ye wondered idly. Probably. Though the old man isn't quite as 'playful' as I am.
As the ancients said: the probability of being smothered to death by a cat's big butt is low, but never zero. Absolute dominance was the only way to ensure his "little cats" back home stayed safe.
Fu Ye turned his attention to the "shadows" who had tried to ambush him. They were still pinned to the floor by his aura.
"Now, do you remember which hand or foot you used to try and sneak-attack me?"
His voice, mixed with the rhythmic thudding of the Emperor's head hitting the floor, sounded like a demonic lullaby. Wisps of sharp, concentrated Sword Intent began to swirl around the assassins, threatening to shred them into a thousand pieces at any moment.
"I... I used my right..." one of them stammered, his willpower breaking.
Before he could finish, Fu Ye flicked a finger. The man's right arm and leg vanished into a red mist, splattering across the faces of his terrified comrades.
"AGHHHH!!! MY ARM! MY LEG!!!"
The man collapsed into a bloody heap, wailing. Fu Ye frowned at the noise and delivered a casual kick to the man's head.
Crack... Boom!
The half-shredded assassin was sent flying into a distant wall, his life flickering out instantly.
"The right hand! I used my right hand!" "Left leg! It was my left leg!" "I..."
Seeing their comrade's gruesome end, these "protectors" who usually lived in luxury forgot all about their pride. They scrambled to "confess," terrified they would be the next to be kicked into a wall.
"So annoying! Cutting off just a hand or a leg is such a hassle. It's much simpler to just cut half the body like I did before!"