Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

At the foot of Qingmu Peak, on the desolate plain.

The clamor of over two thousand people suddenly fell silent in an instant—not because someone shouted to stop, not because they saw anything, but because everyone's heart skipped a beat at the same time. The feeling was hard to describe; it was as if an invisible hand had pressed down from the sky, crushing the entire wasteland into a giant amber, freezing even the wind.

Then, at the summit of Qingmu Peak, a streak of azure sword energy shot into the sky.

"It's starting," someone whispered.

No one answered. Everyone looked up at the mountain peak that pierced the clouds like a sword. The sword intent of a Grandmaster at the third level was so solid that even from a distance of over a thousand feet, everyone on the wasteland felt its heaven-slicing sharpness. The weaker wandering martial artists turned pale and involuntarily took a few steps back; while the Grandmaster-level experts narrowed their eyes, trying to discern the trajectory of the Grandmasters' battle from that sword aura.

Immediately afterwards, everyone sensed another presence.

The aura rose from the foot of the mountain, initially just a faint sense of oppression, but in an instant it surged forth like a flood bursting its banks. Domineering, tyrannical, and unreasonable—it was as if an unseen emperor was ascending step by step from the foot of the mountain to the clouds, and everything in his path had to kneel in submission.

"Li Chenzhou's fist intent." Iron Hand Luo Xiao put down his wine pouch, a serious expression appearing in his gray eyes for the first time. He crossed his arms, his rough knuckles clenching slightly. "What a domineering fist."

Yin Wuxue of the Blood Nether Sect remained silent. A barely perceptible hint of apprehension flashed in his deep-set eyes. The white-robed youth behind him held a white jade jar, his fingers trembling slightly—not out of fear, but because the fist intent was pressing down from over a thousand feet away, and his cultivation simply couldn't withstand it.

Yin Wuxue stepped aside, blocking the young man's path. With a slight movement of his cloak, the oppressive aura dissipated considerably.

Commander Shen Jinghong of the Zhenfu Division still wore a smile, his three long strands of beard fluttering slightly in the mountain breeze. He took out a folding fan from his sleeve and slowly unfolded it, revealing a plum blossom painted on its surface. He fanned himself, but his gaze never left the direction of Qingmu Peak; the smile on his lips deepened, while his eyes grew colder.

Ling Yunzhi, a commander of the Imperial Guard, stood on the other side, his flying fish robe gleaming coldly in the sunlight. His right hand never left the hilt of the Embroidered Spring Blade, not out of tension, but out of instinct—the clash of the auras of a Grandmaster would trigger a stress response in any martial artist of the same level, and the moment his hand touched it, the blade had already "come alive."

"What a formidable four-headed dragon," Ling Yunzhi muttered, his voice barely audible to those around him.

Inside the carriage at Chaotian Palace, Ling Xuzi finally lifted the curtain. But his brows were slightly furrowed, as if he were savoring a strong liquor. He looked towards Qingmu Peak, his eyes gleaming, and murmured, "...More than just an early-stage Grandmaster. The intent of this punch...is at least at the fourth level of Grandmaster."

Those around him gasped. Ling Xuzi was a Grandmaster in the early stage; his judgment was unlikely to be wrong. Li Chenzhou's cultivation was higher than anyone had anticipated.

The crowd on the wasteland began to stir. For they heard something—not the clash of swords, but a muffled thunderous roar emanating from Greenwood Peak. One roar after another, continuous and unending, like someone pounding a mountain with their fists.

"What is that sound?"

"Fist energy. Li Chenzhou is throwing a punch."

"Can a punch really make that much noise?"

No one answered. A second, a third, a fourth punch followed in quick succession, each one heavier than the last, each one causing the ground beneath their feet to tremble. The pebbles on the wasteland bounced, as if keeping time for this unseen battle.

Iron Hand Luo Xiao stood up. He was eight feet tall, and when he stood up, he looked like a wall rising from the ground. His gaze was fixed on the direction of Qingmu Peak, and his lips moved as if he were counting the number of punches.

As he counted to the seventh, his pupils suddenly contracted—because he heard a different sound. It wasn't the force of a fist strike, but the sound of something shattering.

Something broke on Qingmu Peak.

Is it protective internal energy? Or is it bone?

Before the sound of fist energy and shattering rang out, another confrontation was unfolding on the stone platform atop Qingmu Peak.

Master Qingxuan fell silent.

His hand slowly gripped the sword hilt, his knuckles turning white from the force. The eyes of over a thousand disciples behind him all fell upon him—a mixture of anticipation and fear.

"Li Chenzhou," Master Qingxuan finally spoke, his voice as deep as an ancient bell falling to the ground, "You killed my chief disciple, disgraced my sect, and yet you dare to ascend the peak today?"

Li Chenzhou stood with his hands behind his back, his black robe fluttering in the mountain wind. He slightly raised his eyes, his gaze passing through the hundred-foot-long stone platform and landing on Qingxuan Zhenren's face, without even a twitch of his lips.

"If you want to kill members of my Azure Dragon Society, then I will kill you." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was as firm as iron. "It's fair."

Master Qingxuan laughed in fury: "Fairness? What a fine fairness!"

The ancient cyan sword was drawn with a clang, its sword energy soaring into the sky. The sword intent of a Grandmaster Level 3 was solidified, enveloping the entire stone platform. The sound of the pine trees abruptly ceased, and the breaths of the more than a thousand disciples caught in their throats. Several young sword cultivators with shallow cultivation turned pale and staggered back several steps.

Then Li Chenzhou made a move.

He didn't draw his sword, nor did he use his internal energy. He simply raised his right hand and clenched his fist.

In that instant, everyone on the stone platform had the illusion that it wasn't Li Chenzhou clenching his fist, but rather that the entire Qingmu Peak and the entire world were being grasped in his palm. The fist hadn't been thrown yet, but the intent had already arrived.

To rule the world.

"This punch is called 'Mountain Shattering'." Li Chenzhou's voice was as calm as if he were talking about something trivial. "You're ready to take it."

He threw a punch.

There were no variations in moves, no fancy techniques. Just one punch.

But the intent of this punch filled the heavens and earth, so domineering that it was almost unreasonable—as if an emperor in the heavens had raised his hand to suppress a rebellious minister, as if the only sovereign in the ancient wilderness had pronounced the death sentence on mortals.

Wherever the fist's intent passed, the air was compressed into visible white walls of air that exploded to both sides, producing continuous sonic booms. A trench half a zhang deep and three zhang long was plowed into the stone slab, and gravel flew to both sides as if swept by a giant wave. That fist's intent was heading straight for Master Qingxuan's face, as fast as light and as heavy as a mountain.

Master Qingxuan's pupils suddenly contracted.

"Great Vajra Sword!" he roared, parrying with his sword.

The azure ancient sword collided head-on with the fist intent, and a visible shockwave exploded outward from the point of impact, shattering all the stone slabs within a ten-zhang radius. Qingxuan Zhenren slashed down with his sword, the Great Vajra Sword Intent as heavy as a mountain, the sword blade cutting into the fist intent and forcefully splitting it in two—but his expression changed instantly.

Because the intent of this punch was not dispersed.

It surged from both sides of the sword like a tide, bypassing his defenses like a flood that bursts a dam, and continued to crush his protective aura.

"Impossible—" Master Qingxuan exclaimed in shock and anger.

With a muffled groan, his feet sank three inches into the stone slab, and he was forcefully pushed a full ten feet out. Two deep furrows were carved into the stone slab, and the rubble piled up behind his heels, forming two low walls.

One punch. Grandmaster Level 3, retreated.

The second punch has arrived.

Li Chenzhou's punches were incredibly fast—the aftershocks of the first punch hadn't even dissipated before the intent of the second punch was already overwhelming. He was even saying, "The first punch was just an appetizer; the second punch is the main course."

This punch was heavier, fiercer, and more unreasonable than the first one. The domineering intent of the punch layered upon layer, like a raging tide rising higher and higher, like the sky collapsing one after another.

Master Qingxuan gritted his teeth and blocked again. The azure sword energy emitted a piercing cracking sound under the crushing force of the fist, and even the ancient sword's blade was slightly bent. The stone slabs beneath his feet shattered and collapsed one after another, forcing him to kneel down.

"The third punch." Li Chenzhou's voice came from behind the fist's energy, as cold as a judge's pen.

The third punch. The fourth punch.

Li Chenzhou's punches never stopped. He threw punch after punch, each punch adding more force to the previous one, each punch compressing Qingxuan Zhenren's living space.

"Sect Leader!" Master Qingsong exclaimed in surprise from the side, and stepped forward.

Qing Yuanzi is not here. He is still asleep in the back mountain.

The protective aura of a Grandmaster at the third level was riddled with holes, cracks spreading across his body like a spider web. Blood trickled from the corner of Qingxuan Zhenren's mouth, and the ancient sword in his hand danced slower and slower—not because he didn't want to retaliate, but because he simply had no chance to do so.

Li Chenzhou's fist intent was like a giant millstone, crushing all his sword moves before they could erupt.

"Is all you can do is hide?" Li Chenzhou's voice carried a hint of disdain. "Is this all the leader of the Green Wood Sword Sect is capable of?"

Master Qingxuan's face alternated between pale and flushed, and his hand gripping the sword trembled. He tried to speak, but instead spat out a mouthful of blood.

Below Qingmu Peak, the people on the wasteland couldn't see the specific battle situation on the stone platform, but they could hear clues from the increasingly dense rumbling thunder—the punches were getting heavier and faster, with almost no gaps. Iron Hand Luo Xiao's brows furrowed more and more tightly, and Yin Wuxue's hands, hidden in his cloak, unconsciously clenched into fists.

Then, everyone in the wasteland heard the sound of something shattering.

It wasn't the sound of protective true energy shattering, but rather the sound of fist energy finally breaking through all defenses and striking flesh and blood solidly—heavy and dull, like an iron hammer smashing into a pile of wet mud.

Master Qingxuan was sent flying backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing into a boulder three meters high. The boulder shattered into pieces, with fragments falling like rain. The ancient cyan sword flew out of his hand, spinning and embedding itself in the ground three zhang away, its hilt still humming and trembling, as if mourning its master.

Master Qingxuan spat out a mouthful of blood mist, knelt on one knee, and a large hole was blasted in his robe by the force of the punch, revealing the sunken protective true energy inside—that layer of true energy was almost completely shattered. His hair fell down, and his face was ashen.

"Sect Leader!" Master Qingsong finally rushed forward, but was forced back several steps by the aftershocks of Li Chenzhou's fist, blood gushing from his mouth and nose.

Li Chenzhou did not look at Qingsong Zhenren. His gaze was fixed on Qingxuan Zhenren, as calm as if he were looking at a dead man.

"Any last words?" he asked.

Master Qingxuan raised his head, his lips moved, and his voice was hoarse and weak: "You... won't win..."

Li Chenzhou ignored it.

The second punch was already poised to strike, its intent concentrated to its peak. The air within a ten-zhang radius seemed to be sucked away, and pebbles rolled down the ground towards his fist. With this punch, Qingxuan Zhenren would undoubtedly die.