He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

A person is sitting in a wheelchair.

Han Feng's senses stopped on that person.

It had no hands, no feet, and its limbs were severed at the base, leaving only four short, fleshy stumps.

His head was wrapped in bandages, beneath which was a sunken and deformed skull.

The face was crooked and distorted, the features squeezed together, like a crumpled painting.

But those eyes were open.

Those eyes were looking at him.

From the moment he stepped onto the border of China, from the moment he crossed thousands of mountains and rivers to chase after him, from the moment he looked down at this residential building from mid-air—those eyes have been watching him.

It was as if I knew he would come.

Han Feng's heart skipped a beat.

Because this means that the other party is the authorized person he has been searching for.

"finally found you."

The boy in the wheelchair did not answer.

He merely moved—a very slight movement, raising his head slightly.

But the movement was particularly strenuous on his deformed body; his cervical spine cracked, and the muscles in his neck trembled slightly beneath his skin.

He looked at Han Feng in mid-air, his cloudy eyes showing no fear, no anger, and no other emotions.

There was only a deep sense of exhaustion.

"They're here."

His voice was hoarse and slow.

Korean style doesn't waste words.

He raised his right hand, fingers spread, palm facing the room.

The spiritual energy condenses, compresses, and rotates in the palm of the hand—requiring no moves or skills, simply crushing the opponent with the cultivation level of the early stage of the Integration Realm.

With one strike, the entire building would be reduced to dust.

As for that Qi Refining stage user, not even ashes will remain.

The palm fell.

Just as Han Feng's palm fell, a silver-white light descended from the sky, silently piercing through the ceiling of the room and enveloping the boy in the wheelchair.

That wasn't an attack—it was a barrier, an absolute defense woven from the laws of judgment.

Han Feng's palm strike landed on the barrier, but it remained completely still.

His pupils suddenly contracted, and he looked up at the sky.

Tai Cangxi stood there.

His short, silvery-white hair fluttered slightly in the wind, and a long halberd was held horizontally behind him.

Those silvery-white pupils were lowered, looking down at the city below, down at the residential building, down at the disabled boy in the wheelchair.

He did not make a move.

Just watching.

The boy inside the barrier also raised his head, his cloudy eyes reflecting the silvery-white light in the sky.

His lips twitched slightly.

"Tsk, looks like you've really lost your mind. Just kill me, why drag innocent people into this? Do you think one god isn't enough for you to fight?"

Han Feng's veins bulged, but he made no move, nor dared to make any move.

Tai Cang Xi Zhi disappeared the instant the wheelchair-bound boy finished speaking.

The silvery-white light receded from the boy like the receding tide, returning to the sky and to the palm of Tai Cang Xi Zhi.

Han Feng did not hesitate for a moment, and his second palm strike followed immediately.

This time there were no barriers, no obstacles, and no surprises.

This time, the force of the palm was compressed to the size of a palm, with only one target—the boy in the wheelchair.

At the moment of impact, the wheelchair shattered, the enamel bowl broke, and the half-bowl of cold porridge spilled onto the ruins.

The boy in the wheelchair was gone—his body had been smashed into a cloud of blood.

Han Feng stared at the dented human figure, his breathing rapid and his chest heaving violently.

Killed? Yes, killed.

The authority holder who had been causing trouble right under his nose for three years, keeping him up at night and making him hate him to the core, just died like that?

One slap, less than a second, and there wasn't even a scream, no struggle, not even a decent last word.

Han Feng's hands were trembling.

excited.

Immense excitement.

A surge of uncontrollable excitement.

He now has level one access.

The spot for returning is his.

He could finally leave this damned world, leave this hellish place that was watched by the gods, suppressed by the rules, and could be reduced to ashes at any moment.

He opened his mouth to laugh, but the laughter sounded stuck in his throat and turned into a dry cough.

Then he froze.

The return crystal is stuck.

It doesn't work.

Return slots are only available to authorized users—the crystal itself is part of the slot.

The fact that it's unusable right now only proves one thing:

The person with the authority didn't die.

"No...no, that's impossible."

"Why? Why did this happen?"

Han Feng's eyes were instantly consumed by madness.

He unleashed his divine sense, and his perception spread out in all directions like a large net.

There is none underground.

There are no buildings around.

The entire small town had none.

No, no, no.

The aura of the authority holder disappeared.

Clean and tidy, completely and utterly, just like someone who was truly dead.

Taicang Xizhi stood in the sky, watching Han Feng's back as he squatted in front of the ruins—watching the expression on his face change from ecstasy to doubt, from doubt to disbelief, from disbelief to anger, and now to madness.

He knew what Han Feng was confused about.

He himself was puzzled for a long time, for a full three years.

That person with the authority, he killed them no less than dozens of times.

Every time I thought I had finally defeated it—but every time it turned out to be a clone.

At first, he didn't think it was a clone, mainly because he really couldn't tell.

As for how it was discovered?

It's very simple, we killed too many people.

Dozens, hundreds, even exceeding the total number of reincarnators who have entered this world.

It was only then that he realized—these were all clones.

Taicang Xizhi sighed softly.

He had originally wanted to see if this reincarnator could find the true form of the authority holder, but the result was the same—a clone.

That person with the authority hid himself so well that even he couldn't find him.

Han Feng's anger erupted like a volcano.

"Clone—why are you creating clones again?!"

Hundreds of cycles, six impossible missions, all failed.

Despair and confusion crushed Han Feng, only to piece him back together again, only to crush him once more.

This time, he risked everything when he was driven to the brink by the local gods.

He thought it was finally over.

He thought that the damned privilege holder had finally died under his control, and that he could obtain level one privileges, get a return quota, and leave this damned place.

The results of it?

fake.

all fake.

Han Feng stood up and turned around.

His cloudy eyes burned with an almost insane rage.

He looked at the small town, and at the country.

That person with the authority might still be around, but they're hidden too deep within this country.

It's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

But he doesn't need to find it.

Since we can't find that needle, let's turn the whole sea upside down.

Han Feng's lips slowly parted into a grin, revealing two rows of yellowed and blackened teeth that gleamed a pale light in the sunlight.

He slowly raised his hands from his sides, palms facing up, fingers spread.

The spiritual power of the initial stage of the fusion poured out from his body, like a giant beast breaking free of its cage, opening its blood-red maw and aiming at the continent beneath its feet.

"You're not coming out, are you?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it could be heard across the entire continent.

"Then don't come out."

Spiritual energy gathers in the palm of the hand—not to attack a single point, but to cover an area encompassing half the world.

If one were to unleash their full power at the initial stage of the Fusion Realm, it would be enough to completely erase half of this planet's territory from the map.

He doesn't care how many people die.

In his eyes, the lives of indigenous people were never considered lives.