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

At the same time, a thousand miles away, deep in the East China Sea, lies Giant Whale Island.

Under the moonlight, three figures resided at three high points on the island, several miles apart, each immersed in their cultivation, without disturbing the other.

On the highest reef in the north of the island, Song Que sat cross-legged, his long sword in a blue robe held horizontally in front of his knees.

His eyes were half-closed, and there was no sharp sword aura emanating from his body. Instead, he exuded a sense of harmony, as if he were one with the sea and sky. The sound of the tide crashing against the rocks reached his ears and became the rhythm of the workings of the heavens, each rise and fall governed by rules. The way of the Heavenly Blade lies in "Heaven"—the unity of heaven and man. The blade is the will of heaven, and the will of heaven is the blade.

He had been stuck at the eighth level of the Grandmaster realm for half a year, but the spiritual energy tide gave him new inspiration. These past few days, he has been taking advantage of the East Sea tide to comprehend the final level of "the sword is the way of heaven".

The sea breeze brushed his brow and lifted a stray lock of hair at his temple. He remained motionless, but the long sword on his lap suddenly emitted an extremely clear and melodious hum—it was the sword responding to the tide, and it was also the sword echoing his Dao.

On a rocky beach on the west side of the island, flattened by the aura of metal, Jue Wushen stood naked, his dark golden skin gleaming with a cold, hard luster under the moonlight.

His indestructible golden body had reached the pinnacle of cultivation, and at this moment he was doing something that seemed incomprehensible to others—he was bombarding his own chest and abdomen vital points with killing punches, each punch carrying the full power of a Grandmaster at the ninth level, and when the fist force exploded, it shook the entire rocky beach.

The punches landed on his body, but only produced a dull metallic clang, leaving not even a white mark.

"not enough."

He let out a low roar, increasing the force of his punch by three points. His right fist, wrapped in dark killing intent, slammed into his left rib with a loud bang, and the three-foot-thick rock slab beneath his feet shattered.

He took a half step back to steady himself, and a dark golden light flowed around his chest and abdomen, causing the punch that was powerful enough to shatter a small mountain to vanish without a trace.

Not far behind him, the mountain wall was covered with countless fist-shaped pits of varying depths. The deepest one was more than three feet deep, with a smooth, mirror-like surface, indicating that it had been repeatedly hammered and ground into shape.

Those were the marks left by his month-long self-torture. No God trusts any opponent; he only trusts his own fists and his own body—if his indestructible golden body is ever broken, it must be because he hasn't trained to the limit, never because the opponent is too strong.

On the cliff edge of the eastern part of the island, Tie Zhongtang stood with his hands behind his back, a blood-red flag stuck in a crevice beside him, its surface fluttering in the sea breeze.

Before him lay a nautical chart of the East China Sea, on which the locations and ownership of dozens of islands of varying sizes were marked, each with neat annotations in small characters indicating the current situation.

After the Underworld occupied Ten Thousand Snake Island and Giant Whale Island, the various factions in the East Sea fell silent. However, Tie Zhongtang knew that the silence was only temporary—once the spiritual energy tide rose again, those old monsters hidden in the deep sea would eventually surface.

He looked up at the dark, boundless sea to the east, where moonlight shattered into countless silvery scales on the waves, and something seemed to be slowly churning in the depths. He frowned slightly, but did not delve into it—that was a matter for the sea.

What he needs to do is to plan ahead and occupy the chessboard before those old monsters show up.

The three of them do not disturb each other. They all belong to the underworld, but they each cultivate their own path and manage their own affairs. They never meet unless there is an important matter.

Every one of the summoned characters is a hero of his time, with his own pride and methods. None of them feel the need to "discuss matters with their companions"—if something truly important happens, they simply wait for the young master's order.

As for the movements of the Western Azure Dragon Society...

Tie Zhongtang glanced at the unopened secret letter in the corner of the nautical chart—it was a letter from the Azure Dragon Society three days ago, a routine report on the battle situation. He only confirmed the words "no danger encountered" before setting it aside.

The young master's plan has each side having its own responsibilities. The Azure Dragon Society's attack on the west is Li Chenzhou's job, while the Underworld's suppression of the East Sea is his.

Tie Zhongtang was no vassal of anyone. The young master ordered him to guard the East Sea, and he guarded it like an iron fortress. The fighting in the west was none of his concern—unless the young master personally ordered him to move.

Jue Wushen and Song Que shared the same thoughts.

We are all top-tier figures at the eighth or ninth level of the Grandmaster realm. Does anyone think we can't fight a war if someone is missing? If Li Chenzhou of the Azure Dragon Society were truly a useless piece of trash who needed the Netherworld to save him, the young master wouldn't have let him sit in that position.

The three auras on the island subsided, leaving only the sound of the tide and the force of the punches intertwined, composing the unique paths of the strong.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the west, a storm sweeping across thirteen prefectures is quietly unfolding.

The Imperial City, the Suspended Mirror Platform.

Cao Zhengchun sat upright behind his desk, with a secret report that had just been delivered in front of him.

The moonlight outside the window was dim, and only a single lamp burned inside the station, casting deep and shallow shadows on his face. After reading it, he remained silent for a long time, then gently pushed the secret report towards the old man serving tea opposite him.

The old man had white hair and beard, a gaunt face, and a pair of cloudy eyes that revealed an indescribable sharpness. He put down his teacup, glanced at the secret report, and then smiled. The smile was faint, like a ray of sunshine in winter, barely perceptible.

"Grandmaster Level 1? Eighteen years old?"

"Eighteen years old."

Cao Zhengchun's voice was devoid of emotion, but the fingers resting on the table curled slightly.

"In the tomb of the Half-Step Celestial King of the East Sea, he climbed a thousand steps of the Heavenly Ladder, standing alone at the top, suppressing all the other geniuses. In the end, the Blood-Weeping Marquis personally came to take him away. He's only been back in Pingyang County for three days, and he's already broken through to a higher realm. Old Master, what were you doing when you were eighteen?"

The old man folded the secret report, placed it back on the table, and shook his head with a smile: "When I was eighteen, I was still serving tea and water to the seniors at the Suspended Mirror Platform, and I didn't even know which way the door to martial arts opened."

That's it.

Cao Zhengchun stood up, walked to the window with his hands behind his back, looked at the myriad lights outside the imperial city, and his voice gradually deepened, "Dongfang Wudi's son is hiding his true nature too well."

We used to think he was just a nobleman's son, with some cleverness at most, otherwise Dongfang Wudi wouldn't have sent him to a place like the East Sea to die—but now it seems that the death was a pretense, and the real purpose was to gain experience.

That child's sole aim from beginning to end was to inherit the throne of the King of the East Sea. All those prodigies in that tomb became stepping stones for his ascent to heaven.

"What about Qinglong Temple? I heard they're going to hold a 'demon-slaying ceremony'." The old man picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip.

"Let them fight."

Cao Zhengchun turned around, the dim light casting a long shadow of him.

"Qinglong Temple is an ancient Buddhist temple with a history of thousands of years, while Qinglong Society is a newly emerging overlord. There can't be two tigers on one mountain in the west—it's their business if they fight each other to the death."

The imperial court only needs to see who will ultimately stand firm. That one will be the one in charge of the West for the next thirty years. We don't need to worry about Qinglong Temple, much less about Dongfang Weiwo.

"What about the Marquis of Weeping Blood..."

"Invincible in the East?"

Cao Zhengchun's gaze was deep, and his voice lowered a few decibels, "He is the God of War of the North, with 300,000 iron cavalry under his command. His son is causing trouble in the west, and since he himself hasn't made a statement, we'll pretend we don't know anything."

But my lord, you must understand—a father's silence sometimes speaks volumes. He sent his son to the East Sea to obtain the inheritance, then personally went to retrieve him—what is that called? That's setting a trap. The Marquis of Weeping Blood is setting a trap; those of us who live off the court's salary are best advised to stay far away.

He put the secret report into the iron box beside his desk, and it clicked as he locked it.

"Raise the intelligence level of Dongfang Weiwo to 'Grade A,' but do not actively interfere in the situation in the west. Before His Majesty issues an edict, the Suspended Mirror Platform will only observe. We will acknowledge who wins and ignore who loses."

The old man nodded, rose, and bowed: "Understood."

Cao Zhengchun sat back down behind his desk, his gaze falling on the portrait of the Eastern ego on the corner of the table.

The young man in the portrait had a calm demeanor, showing no hint of sharpness, just like any other son of a noble family in the world, gentle and refined. But Cao Zhengchun had personally witnessed the figure at the Great Tomb of the East Sea who single-handedly suppressed a hall full of geniuses.

That day, he hid in the hidden stakes of the Suspended Mirror Platform and watched the young man climb the thousand-step Heavenly Ladder step by step. His body was covered in blood, but his back was straight. When he stood at the top of the Heavenly Ladder and looked down at the so-called "prodigies" below, his eyes were so calm that it sent chills down one's spine.

"Qinglong Temple, oh Qinglong Temple..." he murmured to himself, reaching out to flip the portrait face down on the table.

"You'd better not lose too badly. This world is no longer the place where you can shut your doors and act like Buddhas."

The night was deep outside the window, and somewhere in the west, war clouds were gathering.