The actions of the Yu‑Luo Race are bound to enrage the Star‑Sky Humans; the dignity of a Supreme life race cannot be violated. What kind of response will the Archaic Hall take, and how much of the starry sky will be burned by the fury of the Star‑Sky Humans? These are the things Andrew Han is both curious and worried about.
Right now, he sits on a soft, plush sofa.
Though the sofa is comfortable, the juice is fragrant, and the scenery around him is strikingly beautiful, none of it can capture Andrew Han's attention.
After all, he is a Human.
Perhaps his sense of belonging isn’t that strong, and perhaps his sense of responsibility isn’t that intense, but the flourishing posture of the Star‑Sky Humans truly puts Andrew Han at ease. To exist in the vast universe, having such an overwhelmingly powerful race as your own is an immense blessing and fortune.
"I..."
Andrew Han lowers his head, gazing at his palm.
His martial arts at peak Starlight Tier make his palm appear crystal clear and smooth, starlight flowing, emerald brilliance dazzling, filled with infinite possibilities—almost as if exuding the profound intent of endless creation and derivation. This is one of the hallmarks of Fifth‑Order Creation Light.
He looks, and keeps looking.
Above his palm, the air churns, and three most distinct palm lines shimmer with faint starlight.
Lost in thought for a moment, Andrew Han gently clenches his right hand, his fingers covering the clear palm lines, forming a fist neither too large nor too small, as if gathering the resolve to shatter the heavens: "I am too weak. As a mere Stellar Palace Tier cultivator, I don’t even qualify to be a spectator."
He wants to fight—for the Human Race.
Regrettably, the Star‑Sky Humans are simply too strong; the vast majority are not even qualified to enter battle. This leaves Andrew Han experiencing a long‑forgotten feeling—the taste of looking up and watching from the sidelines.
"All I can do is silently pray."
Andrew Han closes his eyes, clenches his left hand, and lifts his juice with his right, taking a sip.
In this moment, all the pride and complacency accumulated from years of smooth cultivation vanish without a trace.
The facts have never changed—only his mindset has.
Andrew Han quietly reflects: "What was my mindset when I first stepped into the starry sky? Back then, I felt as small and insignificant as a speck of dust, and the vast universe filled me with genuine awe. But somewhere along the way, I developed the absurd illusion that I could freely roam the stars—an attitude I absolutely must not indulge."
At this moment, an alarm bell rings within him.
It is as if his soul is being cleansed, washing away all impurities, allowing him to see more practical possibilities ahead.
The main hall is quiet, filled with a dark red hue. The entire manor floats at mid‑height above the massive star—not too high, not too low, not too far, not too close. From a distance, the manor seems enveloped by the star.
On the opposite sofa, Blake Bloodchart speaks slowly: "Andrew Han."
"Mm." Andrew Han opens his eyes and casually sets the emerald juice aside.
"There's nothing we can do." Blake Bloodchart also sets down his emerald juice, his sculpted, refined features showing a complex expression. "This is a contest between life races; we have no right to participate, let alone get involved or rush to the Yu‑Luo Race."
This is the harsh reality.
You can either face it or wallow in self‑pity. Blake Bloodchart looks at Andrew Han: "There will be many similar things in the future. Don’t lose heart."
"I know." Andrew Han nods.
Ever since he began practicing martial arts—perhaps because he rose from weakness and obscurity, or perhaps because of the painstaking guidance of his master Miles Ning—he has always possessed a clear sense of self‑awareness. Compared to that, this is nothing; how could it disturb his state of mind?
He, Andrew Han, moves forward step by step.
Born as mere dust, why not let your heart aim for the sky? Even a spark of starlight can ignite brilliance, compete with the bright moon, and rise alongside the great sun.
Seeing Andrew Han’s resolute gaze, Blake Bloodchart gives a barely noticeable nod, stands, shakes out his seven‑colored kasaya, and looks toward the dark red, life‑and‑death star: "Andrew Han, you haven’t been in the Spark‑Heritage Zone long. I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it."
"Actually, there are quite a few similar things."
"Outside the Hall, in the ancient kingdoms and empires, we Primeval‑tier Geniuses are pivotal figures. But here, this is the Human Hall."
Simply put, the Human Hall is the core, standing at the forefront of the Star‑Sky Humans, ruling the entire territory. For Geniuses within the Hall, the lowest level they encounter is no different from that of the ancient kingdoms and empires—but the upper limit has been raised by an unimaginable degree.
The level of the ancient kingdoms and empires, compared to the Hall, is like the gap between meteors and stars.
"Mm."
Andrew Han deeply agrees with this.
The Hall’s level is simply too high—even the most inconspicuous cultivation Geniuses have greatly broadened horizons.
The main hall is dark red and filled with silence. Blake Bloodchart slowly sits down again, his palm resting on the sofa’s surface, unconsciously tapping for a while. Then he picks up his cup and sets it down again, repeating the motion several times, still waiting for news from the Star‑Gate Communicator.
A Supreme Existence has already set out for the Yu‑Luo Race.