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

Foggy sea area.

Three hundred miles south of the East Sea lies a sea area that was separated from the Tianxuan Continent and has not yet fully returned to its original position. This place is shrouded in a thick, grayish-white fog year-round, with a spiritual energy concentration between that of the Eastern Continent and the Southern Frontier Continent, making it cold and mixed.

Countless ice floes and rocks of varying sizes float on the sea, like a ruin forgotten in the cracks of time and space.

Dongfang Weiwo stood at the bow of the ship, a three-masted, jet-black fast ship covered in runes designed to conceal one's aura. Behind him stood Pang Ban, three steps apart, neither of them speaking.

Seven days ago, the underworld's hidden agents detected a trace of the Devouring Demon Bloodline's fluctuations deep in the Gray Mist Sea.

It was extremely faint, like ripples left when the wind blows across the surface of water, but Pang Ban personally confirmed it—it was the aura of the Underworld Emperor.

He hid on a lonely island deep within the foggy sea.

Pang Ban handed over a hand-drawn sea chart. "The island is surrounded by three layers of Netherfire arrays, isolating auras, obscuring vision, and disrupting perception. If it weren't for the Netherworld's specialized demon-devouring tracking techniques, the entrance would be impossible to find."

Dongfang Weiwo looked at the location of the isolated island marked on the nautical chart and tapped it lightly with his fingertip.

"What is he waiting for?"

"Wait until his wounds heal, until Father's demon-sealing bloodline completely spirals out of control, until the demon army pours out of the passage."

Pang Ban's tone was calm, "But he didn't expect that the young master would emerge from seclusion at the peak of the ninth level of the Grandmaster realm, and he certainly didn't expect that the Netherworld's tracking technique could penetrate the Netherfire Array."

The ship sailed into the depths of the gray fog, and visibility plummeted. Dongfang Weiwo closed his eyes, actively spreading the aura of his Demon-Sealing Bloodline outwards. The connection between bloodlines is more precise than any line of sight—the Demon-Devouring Bloodline is a reversed branch of the Demon-Sealing Bloodline; the two share the same origin but repel each other.

His aura extended outwards for hundreds of feet, and sure enough, he sensed a ghostly green light ahead, like a will-o'-the-wisp floating in the deep sea.

"arrive."

The bow of the boat stopped in front of a black rocky beach. The island was small, only a few miles in circumference, covered with charred rocks, barren of any vegetation. In the center of the island stood a simple stone house, and a figure stood in front of the door.

The man wore a worn-out gray robe, his face was as pale as paper, his eyes were sunken, and his lips had an unhealthy bluish-purple tinge.

He looked to be no more than forty or fifty years old, but his eyes held a sinister and insane quality honed over centuries of vicissitudes.

He had an old wound on his right chest that had not healed for years, the edges of which gleamed with a dark golden light—a backlash left by his mother thirty-six years ago using the Heavenly Vein Reversal Technique, which was still eroding his Demon-Devouring Bloodline.

The Underworld Emperor.

Dongfang Weiwo jumped off the bow of the ship and landed on the black reef. His boots crushed a piece of dry seaweed with a crisp sound.

The Underworld Emperor raised his head to look at him. There was neither surprise nor fear in his eerie green eyes. It was as if he had long anticipated this day.

"The little thing from the Dongfang family."

The Underworld Emperor spoke, his voice hoarse like withered branches scraping against stone, "You've arrived earlier than I expected."

"You were better at hiding your true intentions than I expected."

Dongfang Weiwo walked forward, his pace slow, each step causing the black reef beneath his feet to crack with spiderweb-like fissures. "The Gray Mist Sea, three hundred miles south of the Penglai Passage. Do you think the Demon Clan's territory can protect you?"

The Underworld Emperor chuckled and gathered a ball of eerie green Netherfire in his right palm.

"Protect me? I'm just recovering from my injuries. Once my Demon-Devouring Bloodline returns to its peak, your meager Demon-Sealing Power..."

Before he finished speaking, Dongfang Weiyi had already appeared in front of him.

The speed of a Grandmaster at the peak of the ninth level was so fast that the Underworld Emperor couldn't react in time.

The moment the Frostbite Sword was drawn, its dark golden light dispelled the gray mist covering the entire island, revealing the pale light of dawn at the edge of the sea of ​​fog. The sword's edge aimed directly at the old wound on the Underworld Emperor's right chest—his only weakness, the entry point for the backlash left by his Demon-Sealing Bloodline.

The Underworld Emperor's pupils contracted sharply, and he crossed his arms to protect his chest, as ghostly green flames condensed into a shield in front of him.

But the dark gold sword light pierced through the Netherfire Shield like a hot knife cutting into butter, and the sword tip accurately pierced the edge of that old wound, reawakening the dormant demon-sealing backlash power that had been dormant for thirty-six years.

The Underworld Emperor grunted and staggered back three steps. He looked down at his chest, where the dark golden wound was rapidly widening, his Demon-Devouring Bloodline crumbling under the erosion of the Demon-Sealing Power. He looked up and glared at Dongfang Weiwo, a trickle of black blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"You... the purity of your Demon-Sealing Bloodline... is even higher than your father's?"

Dongfang Wei did not answer. He raised his sword again and slashed at the Underworld Emperor's left arm with a second strike—that was the core operating node of the Demon-Devouring Bloodline. With his left arm severed, the Underworld Emperor would have no power to fight back.

The Underworld Emperor unleashed the remaining demon-devouring power within his body, causing a surge of eerie green light around him. He formed a hand seal and launched a full-force counterattack at the cost of burning his bloodline.

The reefs of the entire island shattered simultaneously, and countless fragments of rock, wrapped in ghostly fire, poured eastward toward Weiwo.

Dongfang Weiwo swung his sword in a sweeping motion. The dark golden sword light transformed into a crescent-shaped arc of light, cleaving the scattered rocks and Netherfire in two. The arc of light continued its momentum, grazing the Nether Emperor's right shoulder and severing his arm at the root.

The severed arm fell to the ground, and the eerie green light quickly dimmed.

The Underworld Emperor knelt on the ground, his face ashen. He could no longer hold on. His Demon-Devouring Bloodline was completely suppressed by the Demon-Sealing Power of the Eastern Family. The old wound from thirty-six years ago, which had backfired, erupted completely under the guidance of the sword energy. Dark golden patterns spread from his wound to his entire body, like golden threads stitching his meridians together.

"Your mother's—the return of the celestial vein—"

The Underworld Emperor uttered a few words in a hoarse voice, and then his entire body was engulfed by dark golden light. His body began to disintegrate from the inside out, like a stone tower whose foundation had been emptied, shattering and peeling away layer by layer, eventually turning into a pile of gray powder.

A gust of wind blew across the gray fog-covered sea, swirling up the powder, scattering it completely, and leaving no trace.

Dongfang Weiwo sheathed his sword.

He stood before the pile of ashes, silent for a moment. Three hundred years of grudges, the backlash his mother suffered thirty-six years ago after burning eight hundred years of cultivation, the demon-devouring poison remaining in his younger sister's body—with the demise of the Underworld Emperor, all of this had come to an end.

Pang Ban walked silently to his side and looked at the pile of ashes on the ground.

"The source of the Demon-Devouring Bloodline has been severed. The toxins in the Princess and your younger sister's bodies should dissipate on their own, but it will take time."

Dongfang Weiwo nodded.

He glanced down at his right hand—a dark golden light swirled in his palm before slowly receding.

The poisons that had poisoned my father and younger sister were cured, and the price my mother paid on that night three hundred years ago finally came to an end.

Then he turned around, ready to leave.

His gaze swept across the ground in the last instant before he turned around, then suddenly stopped.

The dark gold sword light cleaved a crack in the rock where the Underworld Emperor fell. The crack was not deep, but its width was just enough for a finger to slip in.

Embedded deep within the crack was a thin, translucent piece, its texture resembling both bone and jade, its edges ground very thin, allowing light to pass through.

Dongfang Weiwo crouched down and used the tip of his sword to pick out the thin slice.

The thin slice is about two fingers wide and three inches long, with a thick patina on the surface and several fine wear marks on the edges, as if it had been hidden close to someone's body for many years. A line of characters is engraved on the front, with extremely fine strokes, the knife cut deep but not heavy, and each character ending with a slight upward curve.

It is not the handwriting of the Underworld Emperor. It is earlier, more ancient, and more profound than the Underworld Emperor's brushstrokes, carrying a force that cannot be suppressed no matter how many years have passed.

"Lu has already gone to the Central Plains. When heaven and earth unite, the outcome will be clear."

There was no name at the end, only a very faint sword mark.

The sword mark curved from the upper left to the lower right, its force slightly recoiling at the end, leaving a groove on the jade surface that almost blended into the background color. Dongfang Weiwo had seen this kind of sword mark before.

On the stone walls of the imperial mausoleum, in the afterimage of the sword energy released from the copper bell in Wanfo Temple, and on the edge of the palm print behind the stone gate in the northern border, all bear the same habit left by the same person.

Lu the Demon God.

He stood up, holding the thin slice.

To the west, the sky, cleared by the dissipating haze, was as pure as if it had been washed. The setting sun hung on the distant horizon, painting the ripples of the entire sea a warm, golden-red hue. Ice floes floated on the surface, each one reflecting the setting sun from the same direction.

There were no mountains, islands, or sails in that direction, only a waterway stretching to the horizon, bathed in the glow of the setting sun.

Zhongzhou. The most central, prosperous, and powerful region of the Tianxuan Continent, where the strongest gather. Beyond the four borders of East, West, South, and North, it is the true core of the spiritual energy tides. The foundation of countless ancient traditions and hidden sects.

Lu Moshen left the imperial mausoleum and the Eastern Continent. During the years when everyone thought he had been lying low, he had gone there.

"When heaven and earth unite, the outcome will be clear."

Dongfang Weiwo tucked the thin piece into his bosom and stuck it to the inside of his pocket. He looked up at the setting sun again; the golden-red light was slowly sinking into the sea, turning the line where the water met the sky into a thin, bright ribbon.

Lu Moshen and others did not cause chaos in the world.

He was waiting for the moment when the fragments of the Tianxuan Continent would reunite.

On the day when all the fragments of the East, South, West, and North are pieced together again into a complete map, the Central Plains will become the focal point where all forces converge. At that time, everything buried will surface.

Dongfang Weiwo turned and walked toward the black ship. His footsteps echoed on the empty, rocky beach, each step more steady than the last. As he leaped onto the bow, his cloak billowed in the evening breeze, and the last rays of the setting sun cast a long shadow on the deck in front of him from behind.

"Pang Ban," he said, "return to Ten Thousand Snake Island."

Pang Ban had already stood beside the helm, one hand resting on the rudder. He waited for Dongfang Weiwo to continue.

"Also—" Dongfang Weiwo, gripping the ship's railing, glanced back at the last sliver of golden-red light on the western horizon, "the invitations to the Yangzhou Sword Tournament should be sent out."

Pang Ban nodded slightly.

He turned the helm, and the black ship slowly turned around in the afterglow of the setting sun, its bow breaking through the calm sea as it headed north.

The sails were filled with wind, and the dark fabric shimmered with a soft, dark red hue in the evening light.

Two people stood on the deck, one holding the rudder, the other gripping the gunwale. The gray fog closed in behind them, burying the deserted island and everything on it back into the white depths.

The sun had sunk below the horizon. The eastern sky was beginning to turn a deep blue, a sign of night.