Ch. 1342 - Ancient Samsara God Realm Strikes, World-Weary Immortal

The Ancient Samsara God Realm possessed not one, but two Saint Sovereigns.

Their first Saint Sovereign, the Boundless Saint Sovereign, had vanished ten thousand years ago, but the foundation he left behind was still formidable beyond measure.

The Violet Mist Holy Lands, by contrast, had produced no other Saint Sovereigns other than its founder, the Violet Mist Saint Sovereign, and its current strength fell short by an unbridgeable gulf.

“In the face of true power, what use is mere foundation?” He Changkong said calmly.

“To my knowledge,” the Ancestral Warden said, “the first Saint Sovereign of the Ancient Samsara God Realm may have disappeared, but the second, Samsara Saint Sovereign, still resides within their sect. And that man is an Eternal Overlord.”

Among the five realms of the Saint Sovereigns, Supreme Giant, Chaos Primordial, Eternal Overlord, Creation God, and Sage Monarch, an Eternal Overlord stood at the very pinnacle of the mortal path.

“Mere chickens and dogs,” He Changkong said dismissively.

Ancestral Warden studied him again. There was no visible aura around He Changkong, nothing that revealed vast power, at most, he seemed like a Grand Emperor.

“Could I be blind?” the Ancestral Warden wondered silently.

Unless the ancient Violet Mist Saint Sovereign had somehow returned to life, he couldn’t fathom what gave the Holy Land the courage to defy the Ancient Samsara God Realm.

“Just watch the show,” Xu Zimo said with a faint smile. “Your questions will answer themselves soon enough.”

He leaned back in the seat woven from ancient tree branches, eyes half-closed, and spread his divine sense across ten million miles.

The pale light of dawn began to fade beneath a wash of violet radiance. The purple glow thickened, pushing back the last shreds of darkness.

Within that glow, a golden sun began to rise.

Xu Zimo opened his eyes slowly and murmured, “They’re here.”

“The Ancient Samsara God Realm?” the Ancestral Warden asked.

Even as he spoke, a black speck appeared in the sky.

In the next instant, the speck crossed the horizon and loomed above them.

It was a gigantic demonic beast, its body much like a black horse, but with no ears and two sharp black horns instead. Crimson light pulsed along its hide, and its tangled tail flared wildly, like the dance of a hundred Ancient Demons.

Its face resembled a dragon’s, covered in scales, and upon its back it carried a mountain, steep, heavy, and alive with the sound of tumbling stones.

“The Mountain of Samsara,” the Ancestral Warden said. “A treasure refined by the Boundless Saint Sovereign in ages past. Not quite among the Grand Thousand Treasures, but its balance of attack and defense makes countless cultivators covet it. Looks like the Ancient Samsara God Realm came here determined to erase the Violet Mist Holy Lands.”

Where the Mountain of Samsara appeared, a Saint Sovereign could not be far behind.

“To pull up the roots, the Saint had better come,” He Changkong said indifferently. “Saves me a trip.”

The monstrous steed drew close to the Holy Land and opened its colossal jaws. The maw was a black abyss, an endless pit that belched forth the flames of hell itself.

With a thunderous boom, infernal fire poured from its mouth, spreading across the heavens, burning so hot that even the firmament seemed to melt.

“Hell Horse,” He Changkong said lazily. He flicked his finger once.

A single flick sent a ray of light soaring skyward. It exploded in the air like a falling meteor, scattering into countless streaks that rained down upon the beast.

Though the Hell Horse twisted and dodged, the storm of light was too dense. In the end, the barrage struck home.

The beast let out a mournful cry and fell from the heavens.

Seeing this, a presence within the Mountain of Samsara let out a sharp, displeased snort.

Just that single sound made the world tremble. The earth cracked open in a web of fissures, and countless ancient trees collapsed.

The power of a Saint Sovereign, it was enough to shake the heavens.

“So this is how the Violet Mist Holy Lands welcomes guests?”

From the Mountain of Samsara stepped a man, eight feet tall, robed in the black-and-white vestments of the Samsara God Realm. His temples were streaked with gray, and his long robes fluttered in the lingering flames.

“The Realm Lord of the Ancient Samsara God Realm, World-Weary Immortal,” the Ancestral Warden murmured, narrowing his eyes.

The name sounded strange to anyone hearing it for the first time, but it carried a story.

World-Weary Immortal had earned his title for his disdain toward all worldly things. He was said to have inherited the legacy of the World-Weary Saint Sovereign himself. It was widely believed that among all the God Realm’s disciples, he was the one most likely to ascend to sainthood.

“World-Weary Immortal,” He Changkong said evenly, “you’re not the one I’m waiting for. Tell the man behind you to show himself.”

“A mere city lord of Skywind dares kill my domain’s Holy Son, and still speaks so arrogantly? Who gave you that courage?” World-Weary Immortal’s voice cracked like thunder.

Clearly, the God Realm had investigated the incident and learned everything in a short time.

“I said,” He Changkong replied, voice flat, “bring out the one behind you. Otherwise, I’ll shatter this mountain of yours.”

“Courting death!” World-Weary Immortal roared.

Spirit power erupted from his body as he thrust his hand toward He Changkong.

A sharp bang rang out.

World-Weary Immortal was suddenly sent flying, slapped aside by an unseen force.

The strike had come so fast that no one had seen it thrown.

He scrambled to his feet, his eyes now burning with fury, and shock.

According to his investigation, this so-called city lord was no great power. A cautious man, unremarkable in strength. But this, this was beyond comprehension.

“Care to try again?” He Changkong asked lightly.

“You’re asking for death,” World-Weary Immortal spat.

Since becoming Realm Lord of the Ancient Samsara God Realm, he had rarely encountered anyone who dared to defy him. Years of dominance had ingrained arrogance deep into his bones.

As he spoke, he pulled from his robes a short, sinister rope radiating malice.

It was only a meter long, yet along its length floated dozens of twisted, ghostly faces, each one a remnant of slaughter and agony.

This was no ordinary weapon, it was born of massacre and steeped in blood.

“The World-Weary Rope,” World-Weary Immortal said grimly. “It has slaughtered countless kingdoms. Today, it will end your Violet Mist Holy Lands once and for all.”

Looking at it was like seeing mountains of corpses and seas of blood, an artifact of pure calamity.

“A fine weapon,” He Changkong said. “If it were wielded by the World-Weary Saint Sovereign himself, I might have to fight seriously. But you…” He smiled faintly, eyes full of disdain. “You’re not worthy.”

“Arrogant fool!” World-Weary Immortal roared. “When I refine this land and everything upon it, we’ll see how long your arrogance lasts!”

He hurled the rope into the sky.

The World-Weary Rope vanished as it flew upward, melting into the heavens as though absorbed by the sky itself.

“Heh!” World-Weary Immortal exhaled sharply, forming seals with both hands as he chanted under his breath.

Above them, the sky began to change.

The serene blue firmament turned blood-red.

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