Dozens of sword lights condensed into thirty-nine Immortal-Dao cultivators. Leading them was an elder in white robes, with white hair and beard and an immortal air, whose cultivation was at mid Foundation Establishment Realm. There were also five Foundation Establishment early-stage cultivators—all acquaintances of Ian Song.
The remaining thirty-three were all at the Innate Ninth Layer.
Wait, there's still one faction missing!
Suddenly, Ian Song thought of a small island nation on the world map.
Now that Ian Song held a deputy-national rank, he had the right to access confidential information from Yanhuang Republic.
The island nation—small land, crowded population—is known as the most polite country in the world, but in truth its people only bow and scrape to those stronger than themselves. Toward the weak, they show arrogant faces. Classic bullies, they fear the strong and prey on the weak, and are fond of underhanded tricks.
The island nation has two mysterious professions: ninjas and onmyoji.
Ninjas are masters of special concealment techniques and expert assassins.
Onmyoji can control ghosts to fight for them; these controlled spirits are called shikigami.
All the major powers have shown themselves—there's no way the island nation would sit this out.
So, Ian activated his Clairvoyant Vision again to check.
Sure enough, he found traces of the island nation's operatives.
"Just as expected from such a sneaky nation—always up to petty tricks!"
The islanders weren't far from the starship; Ian hadn't noticed them before because they were tunneling underground beneath the desert.
Vampires, werewolves, Dark Mages, Church of the Holy Light, Indra monks, Immortal-Dao cultivators, island-nation mystics, and the United States—eight major factions were now gathered.
"Looks like a massive brawl is about to break out—heh heh!"
Ian chuckled to himself.
At this moment, Thunder God had lost his usual swagger and looked grim; Medusa's eyes even flashed with panic.
There was no way the two of them could stop all six incoming factions.
But out of duty, Thunder God still faced the six factions and declared, "This starship belongs to the United States. If you all leave now, the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs won't pursue any charges against you!"
"Ha!"
A mocking voice rang out from the werewolf camp. Then, a werewolf stepped forward and stared at Thunder God, saying:
"Thunder God, what you should be thinking about now is how to run for your life!"
Thunder God's eyes narrowed, a flash of light passing through them. "Chekhov, Sergei asked me to pass on his greetings to you!"
Hearing Sergei's name, the werewolf called Chekhov instantly grew more savage. "Where is that bastard Sergei? If he dares show his face, I'll tear him apart!"
"Chekhov, my defeated underling, do you really think you can tear me apart?"
Just then, a flash of light appeared, and a towering man nearly 2.2 meters tall appeared beside Thunder God. He looked to be in his forties, his face lined with hardship, with short golden hair and a tragic, murderous aura.
Seeing the blond giant, Chekhov bared his fangs and snarled in a low voice, "Sergei, you traitor to our race! You actually dare show your face to me!"
"Hmph!" Sergei retorted coldly, "Let me give you some advice: crawl back to Siberia—this is not your den."
Chekhov roared in fury, "Bastard! I challenge you to a duel!"
Sergei shook his head. "Ten years ago, you weren't my match. Ten years later, you still aren't!"
The contempt in Sergei's words sent Chekhov into a berserk rage. "I'm going to kill you!"
With a roar, Chekhov swung his greatsword and lunged, the blade howling viciously as it slashed toward Sergei.
Sergei glanced at Chekhov's battle armor and sword, sneering, "You've even abandoned the werewolf way of fighting—how laughable!"
As he spoke, Sergei suddenly stepped forward and threw a punch.
Boom! Boom!
The clash between these two powerful werewolves was brutal and overwhelming. Sand flew everywhere, and the air filled with hundreds of tiny whirlwinds.
The other factions watched with interest, showing no sign of intervening. In fact, most of them hoped the two Wolf Kings would kill each other—or at least both end up badly wounded.
Many present were familiar with the grudge between Wolf God Sergei and Chekhov.
Once, the two of them were both prodigies of the Siberian Werewolf Clan. Sergei, with his golden fur, was honored as the Golden-Fur Wolf King before his exile, while Chekhov, with his silver fur, was known as the Silver-Fur Wolf King.
Back then, Golden-Fur Wolf King Sergei and Silver-Fur Wolf King Chekhov were close brothers.
Together, they were hailed as the hope for the rise of the Siberian Werewolf Clan.
But a clan can only have one leader.
When the old chieftain announced he would step down in three years and pass the mantle to the Golden-Fur Wolf King, the seeds of disaster were sown.
The Silver-Fur Wolf King was deeply dissatisfied with the decision, but he hid it well, growing even closer to Sergei. Then, during a mission, he ambushed the Golden-Fur Wolf King and cast him into a deadly predicament.
After the Golden-Fur Wolf King's 'death,' Chekhov secretly murdered the old chieftain.
With the old chieftain gone, Chekhov smoothly became the new clan leader and married Sergei's fiancée.
Chekhov thought his ambush would never be discovered.
But three years later, the Golden-Fur Wolf King secretly returned to the clan and sought out his former fiancée—now Chekhov's wife—hoping to expose Chekhov together.
But things didn't go as planned.
His former fiancée, now Chekhov's wife, pretended to agree to help Sergei expose Chekhov, but secretly informed her husband instead.
When Chekhov learned of this, he panicked.
But with his wife's advice, he gathered all the clan elders and announced that Sergei—the Golden-Fur Wolf King—had not died, but had betrayed the clan.
He claimed he had only covered for Sergei out of friendship.
A classic case of the villain accusing first.
So, when Sergei secretly met with his former fiancée, Chekhov and the clan were lying in wait.
Three years earlier, Sergei was only slightly stronger than Chekhov.
But after returning, Sergei's strength had soared.
In the end, he defeated all the clan elders, and just as he was about to kill Chekhov, his former fiancée—now Chekhov's wife—begged for mercy.
Sergei had always loved his fiancée deeply.
Seeing her plead for the man who betrayed him broke his heart completely. In despair, he spared Chekhov, left Siberia, and came to the United States, where he was recruited by the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs.
The battle between the two werewolves grew fiercer and fiercer.
"Awooo!"
Suddenly, a deafening wolf howl rang out—Chekhov had transformed, turning into a six-meter-tall giant werewolf covered in silver fur.
After transforming, Chekhov's strength and speed surged, but even in his battle form, he still couldn't defeat Sergei, who remained in human form.
Bang!
Sand flew everywhere as Chekhov's massive body crashed into the desert, gouging out a deep pit.