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

Ten Thousand Snake Island, a precipice.

Pang Ban had been standing on the cliff edge for a long time. The sea breeze made his dark blue robe flutter, and his cuffs were filled with salty moisture. He held two jade slips in his hands—one was a report from Guan Yutian in the Western Region; the other was a confirmation of Xiong Ba's arrival from the Western Spiritual Core.

After reading them, he put both jade slips into his sleeve and turned around. The messenger behind the cliff immediately straightened his back and waited for the order.

"He went south." Pang Ban only said these three words.

The sound was soft, yet it was like a pebble thrown into still water. The messenger's pupils contracted slightly, and he immediately responded, clasped his hands in a fist salute, turned around, and ran down the cliff.

South of Wanshe Island, the Kuroshio Current surges like ants along the coastline of the Southern Xinjiang mainland.

The black lotus mark of the Burial Heaven Clan has quietly emerged in the three coastal towns. Where demonic energy swirls, vegetation withers and water becomes murky. The infiltration speed of the Ten Thousand Demons Sect far exceeds the previous intelligence predictions of the Underworld. The rogue cultivators and disciples of small and medium-sized families who have been implanted with demonic seeds have begun to riot in various parts of the Southern Territory. Urgent reports of burning mountain gates and massacring villages and towns pile up on Pang Ban's desk every few days.

But at this moment, behind Pang Ban stood a Western Ghost Emperor at the peak of the Celestial Realm. With the western front secured, he could focus all his attention on the south.

"A message was sent to King Shi Zhixuan of the Wheel-Turning Realm."

The messenger ran halfway but then turned back and knelt on one knee to receive the order.

"The exploration of the ancient formations in Zhongzhou is temporarily suspended."

Pang Ban spoke in a deep voice to the sea breeze, his gaze fixed on the dark sky to the south, "Have him lead the King of Mount Tai and the King of Chujiang south immediately to join them. Since the Southern Frontier Demon Clan is about to launch a full-scale invasion—"

He paused. The sea breeze suddenly stilled, as if waiting for him to continue.

"—Then let them see the Five Finger Mountain of the Underworld."

The messenger responded and left, his footsteps quickly disappearing at the end of the stone steps.

Only Pang Ban remained on the cliff, gazing at the dense swarms of black ants along the coastline of the Southern Frontier Continent. "Come," he said, slowly raising his right hand. A vortex of black energy condensed in his palm, and within its depths, the outline of a judge's pen flashed and disappeared.

The North, White Wolf Plains.

When the news of Guan Qi breaking through to the half-step Celestial Realm reached the Azure Dragon Society headquarters, Dongfang Weizheng unfolded a full map of the Tianxuan Continent on the Wangjiang Tower.

He dipped his wolf-hair brush in ink and drew a circle north of the frozen tundra, marking the area as "Nine Divisions of the Ice Plains." The brush continued upwards, stopping beside the outline of the active volcano in the north. After a moment's thought, he added four characters: Lord of the Fire Abyss.

Guan Qi did not send a message requesting reinforcements, but only sent back a brief, almost stingy, message from White Wolf Plain: "Half-step initial formation, defensive line solid."

Dongfang Weiwo put down his brush. The ink slowly spread on the rice paper, and he stared at those four characters for a long time.

He trusted Guan Qi. When Guan Qi said something was stable, it truly was stable—that man never spoke unnecessary words, and every word he uttered was like a nail driven into wood, impossible to remove.

Jinling, Wanfo Temple.

Zen Master Liaochen stood on the stone steps in front of the Mahavira Hall, his robe billowing in the afternoon heat.

He looked up at the twelve fierce Vajra statues in mid-air. Each statue was three zhang tall, with a solid golden body as if the real person had descended to earth. Their fierce eyes were wide open, their vajras were lowered, and their murderous aura pressed down so hard that the leaves of the paulownia trees in the courtyard dared not move.

The messengers of Leiyin Ancient Temple had been standing outside the temple gate for three days and three nights. The leader, Venerable Zhenyue, was a half-step celestial being, his image suspended at the highest point. His voice, like the resounding of a bronze bell, vibrated as it came down from mid-air, causing the roof tiles of the temple to hum and tremble.

"Liaochen. The Thunder Sound Ancient Temple came here with the true intention of the Buddha from the Western Paradise. You used your power to protect the Buddha, deviating from the righteous path—"

He paused, a golden light flashed between his eyebrows, and his voice deepened.

"The abbot will arrive in three days. If you wish to take refuge, your past transgressions will be forgiven. If you insist—"

"No need to wait any longer."

Liao Chen spoke. His voice was hoarse and aged, yet it managed to break free of any harshness despite the overwhelming pressure of the golden light emanating from his Dharma image.

His emaciated figure looked as small as a blade of grass under the gaze of the twelve wrathful Vajras, but his old eyes burned brightly on his wrinkled face.

"Back when my master set up seven prayer mats in Jiangnan to stop 30,000 demon soldiers—"

He raised his hand and pointed to the air, his withered, branch-like finger pointing directly at the center of Zhenyue Faxiang's forehead.

"Where is the Buddha of your Leiyin Ancient Temple?"

He took a step forward. His robe billowed even higher with a whoosh.

"You want to discuss the true meaning with this old monk today? Perhaps you should first ask your six deceased fellow disciples if they would agree."

The courtyard was completely silent. Finally, the sycamore leaves turned over, rustling softly.

Zhenyue remained silent for a long time. The golden light of the twelve Dharma images slowly receded, their angry eyes lowered, and their vajras pointed diagonally at the ground. The Dharma images descended one by one, and twelve white figures landed outside the mountain gate. Zhenyue stood at the very front, his back to Liaochen.

"Liaochen. Three days later, we will determine who is superior through Buddhist teachings."

The twelve white figures vanished in an instant in the sky above Jinling, like twelve wisps of white smoke being dispersed by the wind.

Liao Chen stood on the stone steps, exhaling a breath of stale air. His chest heaved slightly before he pulled a jade slip from his sleeve and infused it with spiritual energy through his withered fingertips. The jade slip glowed for a moment, and he spoke seven words to it before tossing it away.

"Abbot Leiyin is coming. He's in the late stage of the Celestial Realm. We should stall for time."

Jade simplified into a faint light and flew towards Yangzhou.

That evening, the jade slip returned along the same route. When Liao Chen caught it, his fingertips felt a chill. Looking down, he saw only four characters on the jade slip, the handwriting steady and restrained, the ink even and even.

"Just do your best."

Liao Chen stared at those four words for a moment, then smiled.

Laughter echoed through the empty temple, startling several roosting birds on the roof ridge.

"Just do your best..." he repeated softly, shaking his head as he stuffed the jade slip into his sleeve. "You little rascal, you do understand this old monk."

He turned around, pushed open the door, and entered the main hall.

Inside the hall, the Buddhist lamps burned eternally, casting shadows on the twelve golden Buddha statues, their brows lowered, their countenances solemn and dignified. Liao Chen slowly sat down on the prayer mat, clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and straightened his thin back. Outside the hall, night deepened, and the myriad lights of Jinling City flickered like stars in the distance.

The abbot will arrive in three days, so please come. Even if only one hall remains at Wanfo Temple, there will still be at least one more monk kneeling and chanting sutras.

Night. Wangjiang Tower.

Dongfang Weiwo sat alone at his desk, six jade slips laid out before him. Dark golden spiritual energy swirled in the room, casting shifting shadows on his profile. He reached out and crushed the jade slips one by one, six streams of information flowing into his mind simultaneously, like six streams flowing into a single deep pool.

Western Front: Guan Yutian is in command. Guangming Heavenly Palace retreats thirty li. Dharma King Jingguang remains secluded in his palace.

Southern Front: Pang Ban has made his move. The three kings have marched south to join forces.

Northern Front: Guan Qi is halfway secured. The Nine Tribes of the Ice Plains are showing unusual activity but have not crossed the border.

Jinling: Liaochen will challenge the abbot of Leiyin Temple in three days. Late-stage Celestial Being.

Underworld: Shi Zhixuan temporarily postpones his exploration of the Central Plains. He leads the King of Mount Tai and the King of Chujiang southward.

Zhongzhou: The last message came from a secret report left by Shi Zhixuan before his departure—the ancient formation of Baidi City remained unchanged, and the Demon God Lü disappeared the day after the fusion of heaven and earth. The city lord's mansion was deserted.

Dongfang Wei went through the six messages in his mind, like a chess player looking at a chess endgame on six chessboards. His fingertips unconsciously tapped the table, finally landing on the message about Zhongzhou, and stopped.

Lu the Demon God disappeared.

The ancient formation that had been guarded for a hundred years was now unattended. The city lord's mansion in Baidi City was deserted, leaving behind a silent, ancient underground formation, lying quietly beneath the sun-drenched stone floor, like a sleeping behemoth. What was it waiting for?

Waiting for the key to seal the demon bloodline.

Dongfang Weiwo withdrew his gaze and slowly leaned back in his chair. The light from the spiritual energy pillar outside the window shone through the window frame onto his knees, illuminating the dark gold patterns on his black robes. He glanced into the depths of his consciousness—the third, unfathomable light bead was still silently spinning, and the surrounding dark aura seemed to be slightly denser than in the past few days.

He doesn't intend to touch it. It's not the right time yet.

Two of the three light orbs have been activated. The presence of Guan Yutian and Xiong Ba has allowed the territory of the Azure Dragon Society and the Underworld to double in just a few days.

The western front has walls, the southern front has knives, the northern front has guns, and Jinling has Buddha. As for himself—the dark golden power of his bloodline condensed into a swirling vortex in his palm, and the aura emanating from the barely perceptible crack at the center of the vortex was deeper and more profound than that of a Celestial Being in the initial stage.

"Ancient formation... Demon God Lü... Central Plains..."

He murmured to himself. His voice was very soft in the empty Wangjiang Tower, like a pebble falling into a deep well.

"I must make a trip to Baidi City at least once within six months."

The sound of drums came from the direction of Yangzhou. Dong—dong—dong—

It was past midnight.

The entire continent lay silent in the darkness, each lost in its own thoughts.

Three pillars of spiritual energy stood like ladders to heaven in the east, west, and south of the Tianxuan Continent, their spiritual energy tides roaring endlessly between heaven and earth, turning the night into a state of alternating light and darkness.

A new order has not yet been established, but the old forces have already begun to clash, and every loose thread is being tightened one by one by an unseen hand in the shadows.

Dongfang Weiwo closed his eyes. The dark gold bloodline flowed slowly within his body, expanding with each cycle. He immersed himself in cultivation, his breathing gradually becoming deeper and longer.

There's still a lot to do tomorrow.

Moonlight shone on the wasteland, and pillars of spiritual energy shone day and night, dyeing the sand and gravel within a thousand miles with a faint dark gold.

Dongfang Weiwo sat on a protruding green rock deep within the light curtain, with the long sword wrapped in cloth lying across his lap.

It's been three days. Since entering this core of spiritual energy, he hasn't gone into seclusion to cultivate, nor has he set up any defensive fortifications; he's just been sitting there.

Bai Yujing stood a hundred paces away, sitting cross-legged and adjusting his breathing. His aura, that of a half-step Celestial Peak cultivator, was like a sword drawn three inches from its sheath, neither pressing nor restraining, hovering there just right.

But they weren't the only two people on the wasteland.

On the first night, a scholar in gray robes came to the outside of the light screen, carrying a broken wooden box covered with yellowed talismans.

He stood in front of the light screen for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, did nothing, and then turned and left.

Dongfang Weiwo opened his eyes and glanced at his back—the man's aura as a half-step Celestial was shrouded in a strong medicinal smell, as if he had just crawled out of a secluded cave in some deep mountain.

The next morning, three jet-black iron-winged eagles circled above the light screen, with three middle-aged men in moon-white Taoist robes sitting on their backs.

They didn't speak, but simply flew around the light screen nine times before turning back towards Zhongzhou.

Bai Yujing looked up and frowned slightly—the cultivation levels of the three were all above the half-step Celestial Realm, and the leader's blood and qi were as thick as a furnace, already touching the threshold of the Celestial Realm.

The largest number of people arrived on the second night. A group of about twenty cultivators, completely shrouded in black robes, appeared from the west of the wasteland. They did not approach the light barrier, but instead set up camp ten miles away.

The flags they raised were embroidered with a black sun. Dongfang Wei didn't recognize the emblem, but Bai Yujing did.

"Xuanming Valley in Xizhou."

Bai Yujing said in a low voice, "The first affiliated sect under the Blood Moon Demon Sect, whose sect leader is at the peak of the half-step Celestial Realm. They're not part of the seven armies—they're here to pick up the scraps."

Dongfang Weiwo remained unmoved. The twenty-odd men camped ten miles away for one night and withdrew at dawn the next day.

As they retreated, the leader of the black-robed figures clasped his hands in a fist salute towards the light screen—more of a confirmation than a formal greeting.

They confirmed that the land had been occupied, and that they couldn't afford to offend the person who had taken it.

On the third day, which is today, the people who came are here to discuss business.