Chapter 170: The First Battlefield

Whether in Beimeizhou or in front of televisions, all who heard that voice felt a bloody, martial will, as if before their eyes rose mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, and even in their breath they could smell the stench of blood flowing in torrents.

The martial will, bone-chilling and cold, desolate and merciless.

Beimeizhou's sky changed: flowers, grass, trees withered in an instant, leaves fell and flowers turned yellow, as if autumn's end had arrived; heaven and earth grew desolate, and in but a moment the world transformed violently—the desolate autumn hue descended like the Ice Age, a blizzard howled, skyscrapers frosted over, mountains and rivers froze into icy peaks and frozen rivers.

Just one sentence, its voice carrying will, stirred heaven and earth to change.

As soon as the words were spoken, the words became law!

Then the most terrifying scene appeared.

The cruel martial will in his words seemed to resonate with the boundless spacetime.

The next instant.

Above and below, as if a curtain had been drawn back, a horrifying, deep crimson spread—Beimeizhou turned red, and even those before televisions saw their vision stained red, as if someone had poured torrents of blood into their eyes, soaking them crimson.

It was a battlefield beyond description, boundless, infinite, with no horizon, no edge in sight.

But the key point was this battlefield—too terrifying: the countless soldiers dying like ants were all gods!

Or rather—

The beings who stepped onto this battlefield were, at their weakest, gods.

Only beings as powerful as gods had the qualifications to ascend this grand battlefield and fight; otherwise, they lacked even the qualifications to serve as cannon fodder.

Too terrifying—this battlefield's mere ripples shattered the myriad heavens; its explosive force killed and shattered spacetime, pierced through the river of time, spread to countless worlds, and pierced through past, present, and future—the entire timeline.

At every moment, the battlefield erupted in terror.

The battlefield was grand beyond measure, its horrors exploding endlessly, countless divine and demonic auras overwhelming the heavens; gods hidden within divine radiance and demonic luster fought bloody battles in all directions, slaughtering until even time itself withered.

Every aura was terrifyingly potent, brighter than the sun.

Every divine power seemed ready to obliterate worlds and recreate them.

Gods roared, demons shrieked.

Each god fought with bloodshot eyes, willing to transform into supreme demons, forever falling into the demonic path, sinking into darkness, just to kill their enemies.

Yet even after killing their enemies, they paused not at all, marching forward, stepping over the corpses of gods and demons, treading on the bodies of foes, charging toward the next enemy.

The battlefield was horrific.

They dared not stop, for even a moment's lapse meant giving their enemies an opening, meant death, meant the scales of victory tipping at any instant.

This sight had become routine, nothing remarkable on this battlefield.

Weakness and cowardice could not let one survive on this battlefield—even if you were as powerful as a god, you could not survive, for being a god was merely the ticket to enter this battlefield.

Before Takahashi's team could recover, they saw an even more terrifying sight.

Gods fell, divine and demonic beings wailed.

Too terrifying.

Divine, immortal, and demonic blood stained the boundless sky, flooded the myriad heavens, even forming a crimson Tianhe, hanging inverted in the stars.

The horror reached its peak: gods were like ants, everywhere blood spattered, everywhere corpses piled—divine bodies lay dead across the heavens, each god with supreme divine power slain in midair, their divine blood splattering across the myriad heavens, their corpses dissolving instantly into Fragmented worlds.

Before these worlds could birth or evolve life, the martial will of the gods surged like a tidal wave, rushing forth, crushing all resistance, erasing entire worlds.

The battlefield was too vast, too immense—people could see only a tiny corner.

Yet even this "corner," relative to the boundless grandeur of the battlefield, was so vast it inspired awe and despair.

Even so, it shook the three souls and seven spirits of all who witnessed it.

And as they witnessed the horror of this one corner, they also saw—

In this corner of the battlefield stood a serpent with a body ten thousand myriad zhang long, unspeakably terrifying, its feathered scales like immortal divine shields, blocking countless attacks; its ten-thousand-myriad-zhang body lashed out, one tail smashing a great world; it spread its wings behind its body, and the gales it stirred shook the Three thousand worlds.

Utterly powerful!

People recognized this great serpent.

"Feathered Serpent God!" Kamikawa Mitsu stammered, terrified beyond measure.

That ten-thousand-myriad-zhang serpent was the Feathered Serpent God—except its body was even larger than now, it was nearly identical; of course, no one believed this was another Feathered Serpent God, for they saw clearly: the scars on the serpent's body matched those of the Feathered Serpent God exactly.

At this moment, they understood just how powerful the Feathered Serpent God was, how vast its true form.

If it truly revealed its ten-thousand-myriad-zhang true form, Earth would shatter in an instant, tectonic plates broken.

Seeing this—

What this battlefield was, no thought was needed—it was clear.

"The First Battlefield!!!!!!"

Hundreds of millions across the globe screamed and shouted; no one could sit still, no one's will, spirit, or body did not tremble.

Japan.

All who watched Beimeizhou stood frozen, too stunned to react.

Why had Master Konghai said that going to the First Battlefield meant he could not respond to Lord Cimu? Why had Master Saishō and Abe Yasachika been punished for attempting to go to the First Battlefield, yet Tamamo-no-Mae did not pursue them, even showing them respect?

Now they understood.

The First Battlefield—gods fell even here.

Even if Master Konghai, Master Saishō, and Abe Yasachika were as powerful as gods, even surpassing most gods, what did it matter? It was a meat grinder for gods and demons, a graveyard for the mighty.

The terror of the First Battlefield made gods and demons tremble with dread.

"The gods returned from this battlefield."

Like everyone else, Takahashi's supervisor felt awe toward the gods.

Previously, people's awe of gods stemmed only from their power—power alone inspired awe. But now, knowing the returning gods had come from such a brutal battlefield, awe arose spontaneously.

Recalling the Feathered Serpent God's words—that gods fought in the First Battlefield to protect their people—their reverence deepened further.

The battlefield scene continued.

This was a battlefield, and more than that—the First Battlefield—no game, no fairness, no one would ever grant you a one-on-one duel.

The Feathered Serpent God had fought on battlefields, encountered ambushes, faced encirclements, nearly perishing in life-or-death crises on several occasions—once his body was cleaved in two, another time most of his skull was smashed apart, and the most terrifying of all was when he was surrounded and attacked by several foes of the same caliber.

The situation was dire.

Even gods and demons would struggle to survive, might well have perished right there, but he dragged himself back up, shook the body cleaved in two from which divine blood flowed, and lifted the skull that had been smashed apart by more than half.

"The Aztec gods have all perished, the gods of the Inca Empire have all died too, and among our Indian gods only the Mayan gods remain—I cannot die! My people are still waiting for me to return—I cannot die!!"

The Feathered Serpent God roared, carrying slaughter and his one and only conviction, breaking through a deadly siege that even gods and demons could not have endured, slaying his foes, and he pulled through.

……