Chapter 1003: The Imperial Son Is Nothing But a Dog

The instant that blood sword slowly slid from its sheath, a terrifying aura—cold enough to freeze, to slaughter every living thing between heaven and earth—spread in all directions.

Everyone was on the verge of freezing solid, a violent terror welling up in their hearts.

As if they stood face-to-face with the enemy of all living beings.

"Kill!"

Mo Shan roared.

He could no longer endure the mounting, terrifying pressure, and charged forward of his own accord.

He was as tall as a mountain, his entire body formed of jet-black demonic stone, faint runes etched across it, demonic intent thick and chilling, as if a demonic peak between heaven and earth had awakened—bearing a terrifying, savage killing intent, he smashed down, and a frenzied, chaotic aura burst outward.

Mo Shan had clearly already begun to fight for his life.

From Yan Liu's faintly contracting pupils, one could tell that the present Mo Shan was obviously far stronger than usual.

"Mo Shan, you are far too weak."

Clang!

Jiang Ding drew his sword and slashed down in a single stroke.

A streak of blood-colored sword-light flashed and vanished, seeming to pierce through space, karma, and the Dao of life itself, striking at the most fragile point of a living being.

Mo Shan's mountain-peak-sized body stiffened.

Boom!

Mo Shan's jet-black rocky body froze for a moment, then collapsed with a thunderous crash; countless fragments of stone exploded outward in all directions, his aura plummeting without cease, until at last only a head the size of a house remained, falling to the ground—staring in terror at the blood-robed Daoist before him, his divine soul trembling without end.

One sword.

Just one sword.

This old adversary of many years had been beheaded by him—unable to withstand a single blow.

Mo Shan recalled their past enmity and battles, and could not help breaking out in a cold sweat.

"You are far weaker than Chen Shan Wang, even at the full extent of your power."

Jiang Ding stepped forward.

The tip of his foot tapped lightly, pressing Mo Shan's enormous head bit by bit into the palace flagstones, into the earth, until only a patch of jet-black rocky scalp remained on the ground.

Mo Shan might still be of use.

That was the sole reason he was still alive.

Before him, there was no longer any obstacle.

"Imperial Son!"

The heavily wounded Chen Shan Wang struggled to come over; the surrounding Imperial Son's guards and enslaved-tribe attendants charged madly toward this side, utterly loyal—yet at the sound of a single, soft sword-humming, their bodies stiffened, and they could no longer affect anything.

Jiang Ding rested his hand on the sword-hilt and looked toward Yan Liu before him.

Yan Liu said not a word; in his eyes there were shock and fury, killing intent, disgust, and even wild joy—exceedingly complex.

He gazed at the blood-robed Daoist in the distance as though looking at a priceless treasure.

For a moment, silence.

No one knew how long had passed.

Clap!

Clap clap!

"Hahahaha!"

"Dong Xue He Wang!"

Yan

Liu Imperial Son clapped his hands and laughed aloud, appearing overjoyed: "The human race—truly worthy of being a powerful race across the vast realms; even in this little corner of the Imperial race, it can give birth to a powerhouse such as yourself, Dong Xue He Wang."

"I am fortunate, truly fortunate!"

He laughed heartily, assuming a posture of courtesy toward the worthy, as though all past grievances had melted away, and the icy atmosphere around them thawed considerably.

"Oh?"

"A powerful race across the vast realms?"

Jiang Ding, however, was unmoved by this courteous posture, and asked unhurriedly.

"Indeed so."

Yan Liu's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and a strong discomfort rose in his heart.

This posture of courtesy toward the worthy, the moment he deployed it in the past, had always won him the grateful tears of enslaved-tribe kings, swearing to serve him to the death.

He was rather proud of this, believing his art of commanding men far surpassed that of the other Imperial Sons, utterly unlike their crude and overbearing methods.

Now, however, the blood-robed Daoist before him remained utterly unruffled.

Nothing at all like the cringing, bowing manner of days past.

This stirred in him a strong disgust.

"Dong Xue He Wang."

"The human race, in distant realms, in the history of the past, once possessed a flourishing immortal civilization."

"It was merely born base and servile, fond of infighting, and so perished."

Yan Liu hid his disgust well, and said with a smile: "Even so, its potential cannot be underestimated. Dong Xue He Wang, so long as you serve me with a sincere heart, I am willing to fetch for you the human-race inheritances collected within the Imperial race—who knows, in days to come you might even ascend to Great Emperor."

In a single breath he made a vague yet tantalizing promise—a promise enough to drive countless enslaved-tribe kings mad.

"Within the Imperial race there are human-race Emperor-realm inheritances?"

Jiang Ding's heart stirred.

"There are indeed."

Yan Liu affirmed at once, declaring with conviction: "Dong Xue He Wang, so long as you serve me and defeat Cang Kong Imperial Son, I will surely not fail you—I will fetch out the human-race Emperor Scripture inheritance for you!"

"Aside from the human race's Emperor legacy, I vow that upon becoming Emperor, I will elevate the human race to the ninth rank among slave races, binding their glory and shame with the Flame Stone Clan, and sharing with them the authority over the Flame Stone Star Region."

He swore to heaven, laying out all his conditions.

The demon mountain's head, buried deep beneath the earth, heard these words—its eyes turned red with envy and jealousy, its soul trembling, yet it dared not speak a single word.

Flame Stream Imperial Son stared hungrily at the Blood Robe Daoist, utterly confident.

Such an unprecedented offer—a slave race king—could never refuse.

Impossible to refuse!

"Is that so?"

"The Imperial Son is so generous."

Jiang Ding's reaction was utterly calm.

"Oh?"

Flame Stream Imperial Son's face slowly darkened.

This slave defied every expectation—he showed not an ounce of loyalty. Truly, he was the inferior slave race recorded by the Imperial Clan, utterly unworthy of becoming the ninth-rank slave.

Keng!

A cold, blood-red sword light flashed, spreading killing intent.

Soon, Flame Stream Imperial Son's dark expression changed.

"What are you going to do…"

Flame Stream Imperial Son shouted sharply.

He stared at the Blood Robe Daoist, who was drawing his sword—his anger vanished instantly, replaced by a shock he could not believe he felt.

To feel shock before a lowly slave.

"Imperial Son,"

"I want the Emperor legacy—right now."

Jiang Ding slowly drew his blood sword, cold killing intent spreading: "There is no human Emperor legacy. I want your Flame Stone Clan's Great Emperor scripture."

"Otherwise, you die."

"Do you understand?"

He spoke these words bluntly, shocking countless onlookers into stunned silence, doubting their own ears.

A slave demanding the supreme Great Emperor scripture from his master's house!

"Audacious!"

Before Flame Stream Imperial Son could speak, Flame Flower Imperial Daughter had already turned her pale face crimson, pointing a jade finger at the Blood Robe Daoist and screeching: "You're nothing but a lowly slave! How dare you covet the Imperial Clan's scriptures? Do you want to be erased from existence?!"

"Do you know this will bring catastrophic ruin upon your human race?!"

"Your human race will perish because of you!"

She threatened fiercely—and what she said was true.

Keng!

A slash of blood-red sword light struck, booming downward.

Flame Flower Imperial Daughter's ten-zhang unbreakable Chaos Space paper became as fragile as tissue—she was slashed through, spat blood midair, her body nearly severed in half, barely clinging to life.

Weaker than an ant.

"Wretched slut."

Jiang Ding spat in disgust.

This woman bore the title of Imperial Daughter, yet possessed only Hua Shen Zhong Qi power—her chance of ascending to Emperor was negligible. How foolish of me to ever have regarded her as equal to a Dao Heir.

She betrayed all my expectations. She deserves to die.

"Lowly human slave!"

"How dare you?!"

Flame Stream Imperial Son erupted in fury, pulling forth a great flame halberd and planting it before the Imperial Daughter, his hair and beard flaring wildly—his rage and fury had reached their peak, his killing intent freezing to its coldest.

To be humiliated so deeply by a slave was unimaginable—nearly drove him mad.

Yet he did not lose his reason.

He did not charge forward to fight.

Because he was weak.

"Flame Stream!"

"You dog bastard!"

Jiang Ding drew his sword, calling him by name outright, no longer polite, his killing intent icy as he cut off Flame Stream Imperial Son's shout: "Do you think you're so clever?"

"In the past, your so-called humility and respect for talent made us weep with gratitude and swear eternal loyalty."

"Your idle words made us feel profound enlightenment and boundless gratitude."

"Your idle promises made us—made me, made the Demon Mountain, made the Fox Clan King Fox Yan—believe them utterly."

"Do you think your wisdom is so extraordinary that you can easily toy with kings like us?"

Jiang Ding sneered: "Is that not so?"

Flame Stream Imperial Son's face flushed crimson, then pale.

"In truth, you're utter nonsense!"

"Do you know that your little tricks, before us old ones who've lived nearly ten thousand years, are as childish and laughable as a toddler in open-crotch pants?"

"In truth, we were merely playing along with you, this little brat."

"In truth, we were laughing inside."

Jiang Dingleng said coolly.

He tapped the ground once, and Demon Mountain's head burst out of the earth with a boom.

"Demon Mountain,"

"Hah!"

"This little brat's laughably childish tricks to control people — what were you thinking? Did you laugh your heart out inside?"

Jiang Ding asked.

Demon Mountain said nothing.

"You all…"

Flame Flow Imperial Son's face burned with pain, shocked fury and wild agitation beyond measure.

He wanted to vent again, yet the all-pervading killing intent around him gave him ample cold calm; the so-called wild rage never translated into any substantive action.

"Without the protection of the many Great Emperors of the Hornless Demon Imperial Clan, Flame Flow, you're nothing but a dog."

"Your talent is inferior to mine."

"Your strength is also inferior to mine."

Jiang Ding pointed his sword at the Imperial Son's brow and said lightly: "Stop painting these laughable grand cakes, stop making these laughable promises. Any king who happened along could guess what you're thinking — it's that simple."

"Let me guess — are you seething inside, wanting to use me up and then immediately ask your father to execute me? After endless torment, no less?"

"Childish."

"Kid stuff."

Flame Flow Imperial Son's expression changed.

"Looks like I guessed right, Flame Flow."

Jiang Ding said lightly: "Don't make me any promises. You don't have the bearing or the breadth of mind for it; there's nothing about you that can be trusted."

"I have only one line."

"Give me a Great Emperor scripture, and I will fight for you."

"—"

"How about it?"