Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 1111 [The Second Perfect Embryo: Fenrir the Wolf Child]

The Garden of Joseph in the Seventeenth Outer Dimension: Heroic Realm.

This place is also known as the Golden Palace.

It is not a city built of gold and stone, but a world forged from glory, anger, and sacrifice. The moment you step into this place, the air itself carries the scent of rust and thunder. Countless wars broke out simultaneously at the source of time and echoed together at the end of time.

This place belongs to heroes, and only to heroes.

War is not an accidental event, but a natural law.

Sparks from clashing blades, battle cries and wails, the resounding clang of shattering shields formed the fundamental background music of the Garden of Joseph. Here, there was no concept of peace, only brief respites; no meaning of end, only cyclical glory.

The Garden of Joseph itself is an epic poem that is still being written.

The towering peaks, like the broken spine of a giant god, pierce the sky; the bottomless fjords, like wounds cleaved by the axe of the world, are shrouded in perpetual mist. The gale never ceases, howling past the heroes' backs, as if urging them on, yet also mocking them—urging them to keep going, mocking their inability to ever reach their destination.

Beneath the shadows of the mountains, the dwarves' dark caves crisscross.

The blazing furnace is hidden deep within the rock strata, and the sound of hammering echoes like an ancient heartbeat between the rock walls.

What is forged there are not ordinary weapons, but killing machines born for eternal war—blades destined to shatter, armor destined to crumble, but before that, they must be sharp enough and tough enough.

As you follow the frozen canal outwards, the ice gradually recedes, and branches and moonlight take over the world.

The sacred forest of the Elven land unfolds in the distance, its silver canopy whispering in the wind, ancient songs flowing along the river. Here lies a rare tranquility in the Garden of Joseph, but not peace; rather, a brief breath during a lull in the fighting.

This is a world with distinct seasons, yet it is never kind.

When winter arrives, darkness and extreme cold reign supreme. The sky hangs low, the cold stars are like knives, and even your breath freezes into frost in your chest. In summer, the sun blazes high, its heat and brightness showing no mercy; the earth cracks, and sweat and blood evaporate together in the air. Regardless of the season, this land never yields to life.

The Garden of Joseph is not a single entity.

Beneath this vast battlefield lie the Land of Fire and the Land of Dwarves.

Flames surged through the earth's veins, lava flowed like blood, sustaining the entire realm of heroes; while the land of dwarves was a silent and stubborn embodiment of machinery, runes, and ancient oaths.

Permanent portals are scattered throughout the various planes, like wounds embedded in the world. They connect countless dimensions, making the Garden of Joseph one of the most important crossroads in the myriad realms.

Among these portals, the most famous is the one called the Endless Heavenly Staircase.

Roughly cut, outward-extending, seemingly unadorned, massive staircase runs from bottom to top, traversing the boundaries. It has no dazzling brilliance, nor any divine pronouncement, yet it is incredibly stable.

The endless celestial staircase connects countless planes, and each step leads in a different direction; every ascent or descent can change the course of fate.

It is the mimicry of the rainbow bridge.

The true Rainbow Bridge was long ago seized by the Kingdom of Heaven and forged into a miraculous structure in the Land of the Unknown; this Heavenly Staircase is merely a reflection and echo left in the Realm of Heroes, yet it still bears the responsibility of connecting all realms.

On one of the steps of the Endless Heavenly Staircase, an inconspicuous figure quietly stepped into the Garden of Joseph.

There was no thunder, no holy light, and no legion accompanying them.

Xia Xiu's true form concealed all outward display of status and authority, like an ordinary traveler stepping from the top of the stairs into this eternal battlefield. The wind whipped past his clothes, yet failed to shake his steps; the distant sounds of battle reached his ears, but did not attract his attention.

The realm of heroes has already unfolded before his eyes.

The place where he landed was not the real golden palace suspended above the sea of ​​clouds, nor the Muspelheim where flames surged and burned endlessly, but rather—the third level, Nidaville.

The other two levels of the Garden of Joseph were equally clear to him.

The highest level, Sky Garden, is the settlement of the Aswanar gods, a true golden palace. Floating above the clouds, temples and battlefields coexist, glory and arrogance grow together; it is the place in the Heroic Realm closest to the "original mythology."

The second level, Muspelheim, the Land of Fire. A ribbon of floating land drifts slowly across a sea of ​​lava, thick smoke obscuring the sky, flames licking at the heavens. Exposed volcanic rock, there are no true safe zones on the surface—it is a land utterly devoid of kindness to life, where even the earth itself refuses to linger.

And this moment.

Beneath Xia Xiu's feet lay a frozen continent on the edge of Nidaville.

The cold wind whipped up ice shards, giving the ground an ancient and rough texture, like a relic repeatedly polished and forgotten by time. He could clearly sense that the second perfect embryo was in this layer.

"The Garden of Joseph... is really a strange place."

He walked on, muttering to himself.

During the 72-hour crisis, the true remnants of information about the Golden Palace and Odin remained on Terra; the crisis sequence that encompassed the entire Aswanar race was named by Heaven as Yggdrasil (the World Tree).

The Garden of Joseph before us is not the divine realm nurtured by the true World Tree.

It came later.

It is a divine kingdom of faith that was rebuilt here by some of the Elven royal family after the Kingdom of Heaven completely destroyed the true World Tree, carrying the remaining branches, roots and narrative fragments of the World Tree.

In layman's terms, this is an information archive.

It's a backup, or rather... a fake, left behind after Heaven beat up [Yuktrasil] and the opponent typed GG.

To break the defenses of the Golden Palace people, all you need to do is shout: "You are all imposters, you are all stray dogs driven away by the Kingdom of Heaven!"

Upon hearing this, nine out of ten Golden Palace members would break down in their defenses, while the remaining one would frantically protect the foundation of their divine kingdom, veins throbbing on their forehead, and argue:

"Don't even mention the word 'fake'... We are the legitimate successors! To expel them is utter nonsense... We are establishing a new divine realm!... Can the way of the divine race to survive be considered fleeing?"

The debater would then ramble on, saying things like, "Fragments are also true facts" and "Backups are no less valuable than the original," which would only make the crowd laugh even harder, and the air would be filled with a joyful atmosphere.

Xia Xiu felt that he would definitely use the Hellish Jokes of Joseph Garden later. His intuition told him that, and there was also the land of dwarves here. Maybe he could combine it with the dwarf jokes to make the Golden Palace people break through their defenses.

However, he still needs to find a second perfect embryo first.

Xia Xiu's pace was not hurried.

At his current level, his great spirituality had already naturally unfolded, like an invisible star, encompassing the entire continent within his perception. Without any deliberate searching, he "saw" the true appearance of this land.

This is a highly primitive, periodically destroyed world of death.

The mainland itself is not stable.

The Earth's axis has shifted over long timescales, with ice ages and melting periods alternating. In some eras, this continent is completely frozen by extreme cold, and all things slumber; while in other eras, the ice melts, seawater floods in, and the entire land is swallowed up, leaving only scattered mountain ridges like the finger bones of a drowning person.

Beneath the ocean lurks colossal sea beasts, their size comparable to city-states; atop the icy plains roam ice behemoths and wolf-like predators. They are not merely wild animals, but survival machines repeatedly filtered, adapted, and amplified by the laws of the plane.

Civilization cannot truly accumulate here.

Any attempt to establish a long-term structure will be completely wiped out in the next shift of the Earth's axis and the next intrusion of the glacial sea. Thus, intelligent life can only survive in tribes, passing down history orally, enjoying brief periods of prosperity, and then disappearing.

From the perspective of a great spiritual being, the past, present, and possible future of this continent are projected into his perception simultaneously, like layers of afterimages.

And at the intersection of these afterimages.

That unusually stable "bright spot" existed quietly.

The second complete embryo.

It wasn't deliberately hidden, but rather obscured by the natural cycles and noise of this world of death. For mortals, it was an untouchable fate; for Xia Xiu, it was merely the end point of following the pulse.

Xia Xiu took a light step, and a pale silver geometric structure appeared beneath his feet—a Möbius strip with its ends connected and its inside and outside reversed, quietly rotating, and space lost its sense of front and back in that instant.

The ice field stretched silently beneath his feet, the originally broken terrain was forcibly pieced together, and the howling wind was smoothed out just a few steps away from him, as if pressed into the folds of time by an invisible hand.

He walked on it, but left no trace.

The wars, gods, and glory of the Garden of Joseph—those temples high above the Sky Garden, those war songs burning in Muspelheim, those endless battles of heroes—were unaware that a true [selfless one] had already stepped into its foundations.

……

……

The northern border of Nidaville is a hunting valley nestled between glaciers and rocky ridges.

This is the territory of the Fenris tribe. At this moment, in the center of the valley, a giant beast over six meters tall is roaring.

It was a colossal ice beast covered in dark bone armor, its limbs as thick as siege pillars, its back bulging, and its mouth spewing out white mist-like chilling air. Each stomp of its foot shattered the ice and overturned the rocks; its very existence was a judgment of the weak by this world of death.

The group hunting it was a tribal hunting team of fewer than twenty people.

The warriors of Fenris did not possess sophisticated armor, but rather protective gear pieced together from animal hides, bone fragments, and rough iron. Their weapons were equally primitive—spears, short axes, and javelins—yet they were repeatedly honed, bearing the marks of countless life-or-death battles.

They dispersed into an arc formation, constantly moving, throwing, and restraining.

Each charge of the behemoth was lured away in advance; each tail whip and stomp only struck its afterimage. Some were thrown into the air, crashing heavily into the snow, but quickly rose again under the cover of their comrades, continuing the battle. Blood stained the ice, but not a single person retreated.

Before everyone else was a boy.

He had long, blond hair braided into a rough Viking-style plait, hanging down his shoulders; his face was sharply defined, bearing several battle scars that had not yet healed. His eyes were as cold as a frozen lake, and when his emotions surged, a low, wolfish howl would involuntarily escape from deep within his throat.

The Fenris tribe called him the wolf child.

At that moment, the middle-aged strong man standing at the core of the array suddenly roared.

That was the tribe's hunting chief, Harold Shattertooth, who was in charge of directing the hunts and distributing the prey. He had broad shoulders and a protective ring made of animal bone embedded in his right arm.

"Fenrir!"

He roared in rough Fenris, "That's a Frostbone Devourer! Its left eye—an old wound! Only a layer of bone membrane remains!"

The boy whose name was called looked up.

Fenrir.

The second complete embryo.

He did not respond with words, but instead raised his head and let out a howl that was almost like that of a wild beast, which echoed through the icy valley.

"Freggie, Gerry!"

Fenrir roared in a low, short Fenririan voice, "Bite it!"

The next instant, two gray figures pounced out from the flanks.

They were two enormous gray wolves, their muscles taut, fangs bared, and their eyes burning with an almost human-like ferocity. The moment the giant beast raised its foot, they leaped up simultaneously, each biting the other's two hind legs tightly.

The behemoth let out a deafening roar and lost its balance.

Just at this moment.

Fenrir moved.

He charged forward with superhuman speed, the ice shattering beneath his feet. Gripping his spear in both hands, he leaped into the air, channeling all his power into a single strike.

Click! ! ! !
The spear pierced the giant beast's mutilated left eye with perfect precision.

The periosteum ruptured, and cold blood gushed out.

The moment Fenrir landed, a huge phantom of a giant wolf suddenly appeared behind him.

The phantom was composed entirely of grayish-white light, with scarlet eyes and menacing fangs, exuding an ancient and savage authority. It opened its blood-red maw and bit down hard on the giant beast's lifeline.

No wailing.

Only the muffled sound of life being torn apart.

The enormous object crashed to the ground, sending up a shower of ice shards.

The warriors of the Fenris tribe let out a low, suppressed cheer, not a celebration, but a confirmation—a confirmation that they had once again snatched life back from the jaws of death.

Not far away, in the shadows of the icy plain, Xia Xiu stood quietly.

He was clearly only a few dozen steps away from the Fenris tribe, yet he seemed to exist outside the perception of this world.

The gale bypassed him, the gaze slid away from him, and cause and effect had no effect on him.

He gazed at Fenrir, his eyes deep and calm.

"A perfect embryo containing the blood god factor, wildness, will, and pure possibility that has not yet been tainted by any god or narrative."

Xia Xiu stood in the shadows of the icy plain, his gaze passing over the swirling snowflakes and landing on the wolf boy who was still clutching his spear and whose breathing had not yet calmed down. He slowly made his assessment in his mind.

He knew very well what he was seeing.

It is not simply about becoming powerful, nor is it a chance awakening, but rather a path that has already embarked on a predetermined course, yet has not been forcibly reversed by any external force.

"...This child awakened even earlier than Lupercal."

This judgment is not based on emotion, but on precise personality analysis.

Fenrir's spiritual structure has completed the slotting required for the [Dominator], and at the same time, he possesses a complete [Dominator Key] within him, but it has not yet been systematically organized; deep within his consciousness, the outline of his own avatar has been conceived, but he has not yet mastered it.

It was not a vague symbol, but a projection so clear it was almost overflowing.

In Xia Xiu's perspective, it was a huge shadow lurking behind Fenrir's soul—its fur billowed like a storm, its fangs gripped the chains of fate, and its eyes reflected the concepts of doomsday and hunting.

no doubt.

That is—[Fenrir, the Avatar of the Overlord].

From the legendary Wolf of the End, an existence sharing the same name as the wolf child.

With that in mind, Xia Xiu decided to meet Fenrir, the wolf boy, directly. He wouldn't bother with formalities; he would just get straight to the point when they met.
"I'm your father, right?"

And... it just so happens to be an opportunity for me to show off in front of my son and others.

His gaze unconsciously rose, passing over Nidaville's low-hanging, leaden-gray sky.

The air there is deteriorating.

It was not wind, nor clouds, but a gathering imbued with the scent of decay and hunger.

A group of distorted flying shadows are hovering high in the sky.

That is—Harpy.

Xia Xiu looked down upon them from a high-dimensional perspective of great spirituality, and the information naturally unfolded.

They possess faces resembling humans, yet ugly and twisted, like old women abandoned by time; their jet-black bodies are covered in greasy feathers, and with each flap of their wings, they unleash a foul wind mixed with the stench of corpses and the aura of the dead. Sharp claws gleam coldly in the clouds, enough to tear steel and souls apart.

In the mythological ecosystem of the Garden of Joseph, these things were more brutal than the legends suggest.

They soar over the border between the underworld and the human world, preying on nascent souls and unstable life force; those targeted by them will rapidly decay within days, their spirits wither, and eventually even their physical bodies will be devoured.

Hapi, from the Josephian system, was even more notorious.

They are not picky eaters.

Souls can be eaten, and bodies can be gnawed on; once they come out in groups, even minor gods (those with weak divine power) will choose to detour.

At this moment, the number of Happis in the sky has exceeded the limit that an ordinary tribe can withstand.

They were clearly attracted by something.

Xia Xiu's gaze returned to Fenrir, his expression calm, yet carrying a hint of a father pondering how to impress his son.

"Hmm... which method should we use later?"

The old father muttered to himself about which way of manifesting himself in front of people would be most appropriate, while the wolf boy Fenrir had already noticed the swarms of Happis in the sky, and his expression changed drastically.