Volume 3 - Chapter 414: Li Hao's Dao-Origin Immortal Seal (Part 2)
Before coming here, each family had preserved a wisp of their young prodigies' soul essence using domain artifacts. These could be reborn into their clans, enshrined as honored contributors. Their parents' status would rise, and in the next life, they'd be nurtured with all available resources.
Upon hearing the barrage of accusations, Lin Zhexuan frowned slightly. The Lin family members, however, turned pale, then looked around with alarm and fury, glaring at the clan patriarchs as if facing a common enemy.
Lin Daogong’s expression shifted. He knew better than anyone that Lin Zhexuan hadn’t truly given everything—he hadn’t burned his soul. But he also knew: even if Lin Zhexuan had done so, the outcome would have hinged on whether the demoness would hold back for the sake of preserving her own foundation.
But the fact that she had burned her soul first, just to kill Lin Zhexuan before he could surrender, proved one thing—no matter how far Lin Zhexuan pushed himself, he still might not have won.
Before Lin Daogong could step in to explain, Lin Zhexuan spoke, his face dark, voice cold:
“Burn my soul? Take divine medicine? Easy for all of you to say.”
“If I burn my soul, wouldn’t she do the same? You think she doesn’t have demon medicine?”
With brows drawn and eyes cold, he showed not the slightest fear or deference toward these Immortal King realm clan patriarchs.
“If you’re so angry, maybe channel that rage into raising children strong enough to carry the burden of our people—instead of accusing me of not doing enough!”
“You—!”
“You’ve gone too far! All the resources are hoarded by your Lin family. We’d love to raise such talents, but tell me, which sacred grounds, which divine treasures and forbidden lands haven’t been monopolized by you?!”
“Lin Zhexuan, how could you say such a thing? Even if the opponent burns her soul and takes medicine, you’d both be harmed! At least it wouldn’t be such an easy loss handed to her!”
Their earlier anger had been contained, but now Lin Zhexuan’s last line—like a scolding—made the patriarchs snap. They exploded like cats with their tails stepped on.
“The sacred lands, the treasures of divine mountains—your Lin family claimed them all! And now look—both the Jiang and Su clans went so far as to burn their souls, and you just… bowed out like it was nothing!”
“You protected yourself so carefully. If danger comes again, how could someone like you shoulder the fate of our race?!”
The rebukes grew louder and more vicious.
Lin Daogong’s face darkened. He realized Lin Zhexuan had overstepped. Especially now, right after surrendering in a devastating defeat, the human race’s morale was at rock bottom. His words only added fuel to the fire.
“You call this cowardice?” Lin Zhexuan clenched his fists, his face twisting with a mix of shock and rage. “I was thinking of the bigger picture!”
Just as he was about to argue more, Lin Daogong stepped in front of him, blocking his path. A half-step Emperor’s aura erupted from his body, blanketing heaven and earth. Contained within it was a trace of imperial might that made the patriarchs' faces twitch. They stared back in alarm and indignation.
“Everyone,” Lin Daogong said, his voice deep, eyes profound. “Zhexuan did this for the sake of the future—not out of fear. Jiang Xuming already perished. Are you all so eager to watch Zhexuan fall too? Yes, it would be a glorious death. But what about the future? What would we have left to fight with then?”
His explanation was soft, yet firm. Not domineering as expected, but sincere.
The patriarchs' expressions shifted. They’d expected bluster or pressure, not this measured response. And truthfully, Lin Daogong—a half-step Emperor—had no reason to speak so gently unless he genuinely cared.
Besides, the memory of Jiang Xuming’s tragic death still stung. Such a talent, gone so young—it was heartbreaking.
The atmosphere quieted again. Silence fell like a shroud.
“Tut tut tut…”
A purple-robed middle-aged man clapped mockingly, grinning. Just now, with despair mounting, these humans had nearly broken into infighting—like dogs snapping at each other.
He had once thought the humans were so united, with their synchronized cheers and lofty slogans. What a joke.
Still, while he enjoyed the show, his mood wasn’t as bright as his smile.
Neither Su Muqing nor Lin Zhexuan had been slain. The battle had proven their terrifying potential. One day, they’d become major threats.
“That’s right, boy from the Lin family,” he said with a sneer. “With talent like yours, how could you give up so easily? If you’d gone all out, perhaps Hei Ji wouldn’t have followed through. She might’ve even let you win. After all, she bears the Dao-Origin Immortal Seal—why would she really risk her life for a brat like you?”
He was fanning the flames, deliberately stoking the tension.
Lin Zhexuan’s eyes turned icy as he stared at him but said nothing.
The clan patriarchs weren’t fools. While the purple-robed man’s words hit home, they recognized the attempt to sow discord. One by one, their fury turned toward him.
Seeing that his provocation had failed, the man raised an eyebrow, then gave a cold snort.
“Don’t just glare at me,” he said mockingly. “Now then—who will step forward to die next?”
His words scattered the simmering anger like a bucket of cold water. Silence followed, heavy and oppressive.
Not just the patriarchs—Su Zhenyuan and Jiang Qiuyu both looked grim. Lin Zhexuan had lost. Who else could fight?
They had all been prepared to sacrifice everything to win. But now… even total sacrifice wouldn’t change the outcome. The gap in strength was too vast.
Like pushing a mortal off a cliff—desperation alone wouldn’t make him fly.
Silence gripped the scene. The gathered prodigies of each clan clenched their fists, eyes brimming with humiliation and sorrow. But the black-veiled woman in the arena was far too powerful. Even a suicidal charge likely couldn’t scratch her.
“…Never imagined things would come to this,” Su Zhenyuan said via sound transmission, his voice bitter.
Jiang Qiuyu looked devastated. They had considered the possibility of Lin Zhexuan losing. It had seemed infinitesimally small—but just in case, they had prepared a second contingency.
After all, no strategist would stake everything on a single piece.
But if they now had to execute the backup plan… then Jiang Xuming’s death had been meaningless. A death without value.
If it meant anything at all, it was merely to let the world know that someone like Jiang Xuming had once existed—a proud prodigy of the human race.
How long his name would be remembered—whether a hundred years or a thousand—was anyone’s guess.
“…Let the remaining matches be filled by deathsworn warriors,” Lin Daogong said softly, glancing apologetically at Jiang Qiuyu.
Su Zhenyuan gave a faint nod. Jiang Qiuyu didn’t speak—taking that as agreement.
Since victory was no longer an option, they would just send people out to die. Let the demon domain kill them. At least this would preserve the strength of the other young talents.
The overwhelming dominance of the demon prodigies had left them no choice but to abandon the first round of the tournament and evacuate the immortal cities.
Better to cut their losses now than lose both blood and pride.
As Su Zhenyuan finalized his decision, the purple-robed man, noticing that the human side still hadn’t responded, raised a hand and tore open the domain. One by one, he dragged out figures and arranged them in a row.
Each figure was bound in chains, their powers suppressed. Some were bloodied, others disheveled, hair matted and faces scarred.
“Zhe gege!”
“Brother Feng!”
“Lan Jin!”
As the captives appeared, the previously silent crowd erupted in cries of recognition.
Though their appearances were ragged and marred, they were still recognizable.
They were human prodigies from thousands—or even tens of thousands—of years ago. Each had once stood atop their generation. Each had once belonged to the top ranks of their respective clans.
Having completed their cultivation, they’d gone to the border warfront to lead immortal armies in battles against the demon race—only to fall and become prisoners.
These were the designated prisoners to be exchanged during this tournament.
Now, the purple-robed man had brought them out for display.
“These are the war captives you humans requested to exchange,” he said, eyes sweeping the crowd, voice dripping with mockery. “Win a match, and you’ll get not only one of our demon domain’s royal cities, but also one of these captured prodigies back.”
His tone sharpened, lips curling into a sneer.
“But now, it seems none of you dare take the field anymore. What a disappointment. Is this the extent of the human race’s so-called prodigies? Out of twenty matches, will you only win one?”
His expression was exaggerated, but every word stabbed like a blade.
Twenty matches. Apart from Su Muqing’s solitary victory… it now seemed that would be the only one.
Lin Zhexuan had lost.
And that black-veiled woman still sat within the arena.
Who else could win?
The rest could only surrender.
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