Whether it was the Cult of the Heavenly Demon aiding the Imperial Preceptor of the Everpeace Empire, or the cult using teleportation banners to bring Everpeace's army and massacre disciples of every sect, these actions were enough to shake the hearts and minds of sect master‑level figures, leaving them unsettled and distraught.
Although their confusion lasted only a short while, to lose composure before someone like the Imperial Preceptor of the Everpeace Empire was tantamount to sealing their fate—they were as good as dead.
Though sect master‑level figures were usually Divine Bridge Realm experts, there were still differences in strength even within that realm. As the Imperial Preceptor himself said, he was one who had no weaknesses at any stage; no matter how broad others' paths, none were as long and straight as his.
His cultivation surpassed others, and so did his strength.
In an ambush, almost no one could stand against him—most couldn't even withstand a single move.
It was just like in Heaven‑Wave City, when the Nethervault Demon King was fighting Mute and was slain by a single sword strike—an ambush as well.
Quinn Shepherd estimated that the Imperial Preceptor could, in that split second when these experts lost focus, take out at least four formidable enemies. As for how many he could injure, that would depend on his skill.
This battle, though breathtaking and showcasing the strongest combat prowess in the world, could not be fully seen by most. Of the hundreds present, perhaps only the Left and Right Dharma Envoys could clearly follow every move on the battlefield.
Even the Hall Masters of the Three Hundred and Sixty Halls could barely discern more than a handful of moves.
Quinn Shepherd stared at the battlefield again but still couldn't make out the details—only blurred afterimages from rapid movements, and flashes from unleashed spells and sword arts.
But every few moments, a flash of light would vanish—signaling the death of a powerful fighter.
Now, only eight figures remained there.
"Besides the Imperial Preceptor, there are seven others left."
Quinn's eyes flickered. Among those seven, all should be among the stronger ones—but which seven had survived?
He could see figures moving with godlike speed, but couldn't tell who was who.
"If I can't see the battle clearly, I'm missing out on a tremendous opportunity. I wonder if I can open the Bixiao Heaven Eye?"
Quinn Shepherd gathered his yuanqi, channeling more of it into his eyes, trying to construct the array pattern for the Bixiao Heaven Eye. His pupils already held three rings: the first was his natural pupil, the second formed by the Divine Firmament Heaven Eye, the third by the Azure Firmament Heaven Eye. If he could condense the Bixiao layer, a fourth ring would appear, letting him see even more.
But as he drew yuanqi into his eyes, he suddenly sensed something different slipping in along with it.
Quinn froze—then, all at once, the battlefield became crystal clear before his eyes!
He shook his head and looked again—the battlefield was still perfectly clear!
But now, he hadn't formed the array pattern for the Bixiao Heaven Eye at all!
There was another person's eyes inside my own!
Quinn was chilled to the bone. Now he could even see every move of the Imperial Preceptor and the others, every layer of their spells and sword arts, the internal structure of each technique!
Every movement, every expression—they were all perfectly clear!
This wasn't something his own eyes could see—it was what another person's eyes saw, or rather, someone else was using his eyes to watch the battle!
Who exactly was using his eyes to watch the battle?
Suddenly, he remembered—during the summoning ritual in Heaven-Wave City, when he called forth the Nethervault Demon King, that king's consciousness and power entered the demon statue through his body, blasting open his brow, lightning pouring through it and into the statue, all while he was running the Overlord Three-Core Art.
As the art ran, he felt something entering his body along with the flow of yuanqi.
Then the disciples of Redcrest Mountain Sect arrived and used the Demon-Repelling Command. Although it couldn't send the Nethervault Demon King back, when its light shone on him, Quinn felt the summoning interrupted—the flow of power and consciousness from his body to the statue was cut off.
In other words, part of the Nethervault Demon King's consciousness and power was left behind inside Quinn!
So now, the one inside me using my eyes to watch the battle must be the Nethervault Demon King!
Quinn felt a surge of fear—the Demon King's consciousness was lurking in his body, but where? And why hadn't he noticed anything strange while cultivating the Overlord Three-Core Art all this time?
What was the Nethervault Demon King plotting?
Granny Sue has Tyson Li, the former demonic Cult Master, inside her; if I've got a Nethervault Demon King in me, that's a real mess.
Quinn kept his composure. The Demon King using his eyes to watch the battle was actually a good thing—it let him see the situation clearly, and the clash of top experts could greatly broaden his horizons.
What I intercepted was just a fragment of the Nethervault Demon King's consciousness and power. However strong it is, it can't be that bad. As long as I can find it, I can deal with it! For now, I'd better not startle the snake—pretending ignorance is best.
Now he could finally see the details of the battle.
The Imperial Preceptor's sword wasn't a real sword, but sword-qi formed from his yuanqi—endlessly changing, gathering and dispersing at will.
His body blazed with light, like a god. Quinn had seen this kind of radiance once before—on the Village Chief.
Even the most basic sword forms in his hands became indescribably complex and profound.
His sword arts weren't just the basic forms—they included even more intricate calculations and transformations.
Dao Gate's Dao Sword?
Quinn was taken aback. In the Imperial Preceptor's sword arts, he saw traces of the Dao Sword from Dao Gate—unbelievably complex calculation techniques. Take the Taiji diagram, for instance; anyone can draw a circle, but the ratio between the circle and the arc that slices it—no one can truly calculate.
This ties into the first form of Dao Sword: the secret of yin and yang cycling within the duality. To truly achieve this cycling, you need the Grand Mystery Numerology Canon for essential calculations.
To unleash the full power of yin-yang cycling in duality, you have to calculate down to the fuzzy digits past the point of division. To go even further, you must reach the numbers of emptiness and purity.
The Imperial Preceptor has astonishing mathematical mastery!
Quinn thought, 'If I'd known, I should've asked him about the Grand Mystery Numerology Canon when we headed south together!'
The ones fighting the Imperial Preceptor were three elders: Master Qiong, Hermit Li, and Lady Tian Zhenjun. They truly were the top experts of the old era, their bodies blazing with light like ancient gods, each wielding a different technique.
Master Qiong wielded a giant brush—almost like a whisk, but with longer bristles and fewer transformations than a true whisk.
Hermit Li was a sword cultivator, his sword arts exquisitely refined, but clearly inferior to the Imperial Preceptor's. His sword arts were built on the fourteen basic forms—brilliant, but already behind the times.
The era had advanced, but he remained stuck in place.
Lady Tian Zhenjun cultivated gu—her insects transformed into all sorts of strange dragons: the hundred-zhang Sky Centipede Dragon, the Dragon Silkworm refined from heavenly silkworms, the Green Jiao Dragon born from blue snakes—each with its own bizarre shape.
These poisonous creatures were powerful, but they kept falling one after another to the Imperial Preceptor's sword arts.
Quinn figured she wouldn't last much longer.
Besides those three, four more survived. Among them was David Qi of the Beggar Sect—his Hundred-Beggar Profound Art was truly unique. His body flickered between solid and phantom, appearing and vanishing unpredictably. The essence of poverty is having nothing, and his art was full of strange twists.
Another survivor was Daoist Master Quan—weakest among them, but the Imperial Preceptor seemed to spare him, perhaps because he posed no threat.
The third was Abbot Zhikong of Great Hero Monastery, whose Four Seals of Buddhist power were formidable. But under the Imperial Preceptor's sword, the high monk was now covered in wounds, barely able to fight.
The fourth was the bronze-masked man—his attacks were the fiercest and most domineering, and he was the one who most puzzled Quinn.
His cultivation focused on divine arts; when he unleashed them, nine dragons roared to life, surging with immense power!
Those nine dragons could manifest a hundred different forms—offensive and defensive spells, control over water and fire, the evolution of yin and yang. Their power was overwhelming, able to shift between brute force and endless transformations, attacking, defending, or refining at will.
He'd refined those nine dragons until they were nearly solid.
Nine-Dragon Emperor Art.
This was a royal technique of the imperial family—only those of the emperor's direct line could cultivate it. Even princes and princesses were strictly forbidden.
That bronze-masked man was clearly imperial blood—and judging by his cultivation, he was at the very top of the royal hierarchy.
His attacks were brutal, but the Imperial Preceptor never struck to kill—perhaps out of caution.
Who is this man? Quinn was deeply shaken.
Just then, Quinn felt a sudden tug in his heart. He turned west—and saw a vast, majestic phantom mountain rushing toward them.
Quinn blinked. The mountain was impossibly huge, but only a shadow—not real, but formed from the collective aura of countless strange monks.
Sumeru Mountain.
On the phantom mountain's many peaks, monks sat cross-legged, stood atop summits holding jade bottles, or lounged in open halls, roaring with laughter.
At the golden summit, a great Buddha gleamed—radiant as if cast in pure gold, a thousand rays streaming from his head, towering and awe-inspiring!
Great Thunderclap Temple—World-Honored One!
Quinn's heart trembled. Great Thunderclap Temple had arrived—the World-Honored One himself leading protectors, venerables, bodhisattvas, and arhats!
What did he intend to do?
At that moment, the Imperial Preceptor seemed to sense it too—he suddenly struck, beheading Abbot Zhikong of Great Hero Monastery!
On the mountain, the Holy Cult elites all turned, gazing at the drifting phantom of Sumeru Mountain.
'Bald donkeys!' the Left Dharma Envoy sneered.
'Bald donkeys!' the crowd echoed in unison.
Even Elias the monk, seeing everyone shout 'bald donkey,' forced himself to join in—after all, he was now a Holy Cult member, even if he was a monk himself.
The phantom Sumeru Mountain drifted overhead. Protectors, venerables, bodhisattvas, and arhats looked down, all intoning coldly, 'Demonic heretics!'
Quinn's expression was odd. 'Seems like relations between our Holy Cult and Great Thunderclap Temple are a little... tense.'
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