Zhì Yuǎn's fingers descended and stopped over Jiàn Wúshuang's chest.
The Sword Hegemon clenched his jaw. The old man tightly shut his eyes, expecting the final blow. He believed the outsider was going to crush his heart or rip out his Nascent Divinity with his bare hands. Blood still flowed from the exposed fractures in his knees, but the terror of the coming strike paralyzed everything.
A second passed. Then another.
Nothing happened.
Jiàn Wúshuang slowly opened one eye.
Zhì Yuǎn remained standing, his broad hand resting over the old man's chest. The outsider was not squeezing the flesh and was not releasing any killing intent. His dark eyes were fixed on the Hegemon's sternum, as if looking directly into the crystal box that housed his soul.
Zhì Yuǎn tilted his head slightly.
"Fragile structure," he murmured, his voice low and rustic. "It will break before reaching the end of the journey."
The practical, almost casual comment frightened Jiàn Wúshuang more than any threat. The old man opened his mouth to speak.
Before any words could come out, Zhì Yuǎn pressed his index finger against the man's chest.
He did not recite any technique, form any seals, or release any wave of energy. He simply injected a single drop of golden Primordial Qi directly into the core of the old man's Nascent Divinity — without warning and without explanation.
The drop sank into the crystal. Zhì Yuǎn kept his hand on the old man's chest, guiding the energy through the patterns of the Nascent Divinity. The structure, however, was far too porous. The Qi overflowed and leaked directly into the old man's flesh.
The swordsman's body reacted at once.
The broken bones in his knees snapped loudly. The fragments rejoined and fused in less than a single breath. The bleeding stopped. His wrinkled skin tightened. His white hair rapidly darkened, returning to the black color he had not seen in centuries.
Jiàn Wúshuang's vitality exploded. The weakness of age disappeared, replaced by the dense, pure strength of his prime at forty years old.
He took a deep breath. The air entered his lungs cleanly. The pain no longer existed.
For a moment, reason abandoned the old man's head.
Jiàn Wúshuang looked at his own hands with wide eyes. The new power pulsed through his veins like a raging current. The youth he had lost more than a thousand years ago had suddenly returned, without warning. Relief and euphoria rose so quickly that he could not think clearly.
He placed both hands on the marble and bowed his head, his voice firm and free of the hoarseness of old age:
"The Lord recognizes my value…" he said, almost breathless. "I swear loyalty. My sword will be yours. I will serve with…"
"Don't get excited."
Zhì Yuǎn's rustic voice cut the oath in half.
The gray-robed man looked at him with the same usual boredom. He removed his hand from the old man's chest.
"Your body was in pieces," Zhì Yuǎn said bluntly. "If I throw you out like that, the pressure will crush your flesh before you even cross the ceiling. I just needed you to withstand the impact."
The silence that fell over the hall was heavy.
Jiàn Wúshuang froze. His steady hands trembled on the marble. The smile of relief died on his rejuvenated face. The euphoria that had overtaken him seconds earlier dissipated like smoke.
He understood.
The outsider had not healed him because he recognized his value. He had merely repaired a broken carcass because he needed it to survive being thrown out of the world without falling apart along the way.
He was nothing more than a pig that had just been fattened so it would not spoil during the journey to the slaughterhouse.
Jiàn Wúshuang understood that the end had arrived.
Terror engulfed the old man. He placed his hands on the marble and tried to crawl backward, wanting to distance himself from Zhì Yuǎn in any way possible.
Zhì Yuǎn gave him no room.
He raised his right hand. Invisible threads intertwined at the tip of his index finger — a crude mixture of the Laws of Karma, Devotion, Soul, and a rustic trace of Destruction. Without saying a word, he took a step forward and drove his finger directly into the swordsman's forehead.
The threads sank into the flesh.
Jiàn Wúshuang's body locked mid-movement. His mind was not erased, but his will was crushed and rewritten in an instant. The human light vanished from the old man's eyes. He released the weight of his body and fell onto all fours on the marble, head lowered and posture docile. A thick strand of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.
Zhì Yuǎn stopped. He furrowed his brows, looking at the old man drooling on the floor.
"That wasn't supposed to happen," he murmured, his rustic voice sounding slightly frustrated with his own test.
He crouched down and gave the swordsman's cheek two light pats.
"Hey, wake up. You have to get out of here. They're already coming and they can't see me."
At the edge of the table, Mèng Lián was paralyzed. The woman's mind could no longer keep up with what was happening. Seeing the man who had subjugated the entire continent speak of hiding broke what little logic she had left.
"They who?" the question slipped from her mouth in an automatic whisper.
Zhì Yuǎn turned his face toward her. He raised his hand and pointed his index finger directly at the dome's ceiling. Looking into the terrified woman's eyes, he answered with the greatest naturalness in the world:
"The villainous heavens."
Silence reigned in the hall for a second.
Outside, the afternoon light vanished. The stone floor trembled. Thick purple clouds began spiraling above the peak. The sound of thunder cracked loudly. The ceiling of the world began arming the Heavenly Tribulation, sensing the excess energy that did not belong to this plane.
Zhì Yuǎn merely moved his left arm in a casual gesture.
Space flickered. The man on all fours simply disappeared from the hall, teleported directly into the open courtyard, right in the center of the storm.
------
The purple flash engulfed the stone courtyard.
The sound of lightning tearing through the air came right after, making the pillars of the Crystal Dome tremble. The pillar of purple light descended in a straight line and struck Jiàn Wúshuang's back.
The stone beneath the old man instantly melted, turning into a pool of dark magma. But the swordsman's body did not disintegrate. Inflated with the Primordial Qi Zhì Yuǎn had injected minutes earlier, his flesh withstood the impact. Jiàn Wúshuang remained on all fours on the molten rock, intact and drooling.
Unable to incinerate the anomaly, the dimension itself yielded.
The space right behind Jiàn Wúshuang tore with a dry crack. Reality opened a silver vortex, sucked the old man in, and spat him out of the mortal plane in one go. In the next instant, the rift closed.
Above the courtyard, the purple clouds continued spinning heavily, slowly dissipating.
Inside the hall, Zhì Yuǎn raised his right hand.
He looked at the tip of his index finger. The invisible thread of the Law of Karma stretched upward, piercing through the palace ceiling and puncturing the dimensional barrier. Deep within his Dantian, the coordinates of the upper plane lit up. The anchor was fixed.
Zhì Yuǎn lowered his hand.
"One is done," he said, his rustic voice sounding casual in the middle of the hall. "Let's send the next while they're still here."
Near the jade table, Mèng Lián and Zhào Fēng were white as paper. They had not seen what happened in the courtyard. Trying to extend one's perception during a Heavenly Tribulation was suicide — the Heavens would incinerate anyone who dared to touch the divine lightning. Even Zhì Yuǎn's wives had not witnessed the ascension; there was still no safe method of soul cultivation for them.
But Mèng Lián's mind locked onto another realization.
That man was openly hiding from the Heavens. Even so, he had extended his perception outward and confirmed the success of the ascension without being detected. The woman's terror only worsened when she realized that the "next" would be either her or Zhào Fēng.
She opened her mouth to beg, but the sound of silk brushing against marble cut through the silence.
Mò Yán took a step forward.
The diplomat adjusted the collar of her white and black hanfu. The flush of tension still warmed her fair neck, but her scarlet irises shone with cold calculation. She stopped beside Zhì Yuǎn and slightly bowed her head.
"Husband," she called, her melodious voice flowing with respect. "If our destiny is to follow the trail of these slaves, arriving blindly at a higher plane may delay our foundation up there."
Zhì Yuǎn turned his face toward her, waiting.
"Allow me to give them some orders in their minds before you, my Lord, throw them to the other side," Mò Yán continued, raising her gaze. "I can force them to create safe zones, stockpile resources, and infiltrate information networks. When we arrive, our home will already be ready to receive us."
Near the entrance, Yù Qíng smiled, approving of her sister's practical coldness.
Zhì Yuǎn evaluated the white-haired woman for a second. Her political intelligence covered the loose ends of logistics impeccably. The corner of his lips curved slightly. He raised his large hand and slowly brushed his thumb across the diplomat's flushed cheek.
"Of course, my snow," he replied.