Chapter 682: True Martial Talisman

Inside the True Martial Talisman.

A flash of light revealed Fang Xing’s figure.

He glanced around and sighed.

Boom!

Stone pillars rose, parting the gray qi to form a space roughly one hundred square meters in area and ten meters high.

Stone steps appeared one by one, and at the very top stood a throne.

Fang Xing sat upon the throne and murmured, “Next… I don’t know how many years I’ll be stuck here…”

“But my condition is already incomparably better than Pan Wu’s subconscious… The longer I stay, the more I can comprehend the True Martial Dao.”

He silently explored the limits of his own abilities.

“Within the True Martial Talisman, this space is my limit—I’m like a creator god here… uh, a creator god of one hundred square meters?”

He extended his hand, and a jade cup materialized, filled with golden wine.

This was a fine wine brewed personally by the God of Wine from the Divine World, capable of intoxicating even a Fourteenth-Realm Dao Lord.

Fang Xing took a small sip; the cup vanished instantly, then several puppets appeared, kneeling one by one: “Master…”

“Hmm, these puppets’ strength can be adjusted… Can I create flesh-and-blood living beings too?”

He nodded, then shook his head: “But this is for me—what can the one who obtains the True Martial Talisman gain?”

No mistake!

Fang Xing could no longer move the stone talisman in the outside world by his own power after entering it.

In other words, he needed a host—he had become something like a divine cheat system.

“Whoever obtains the ‘True Martial Talisman’ will receive the best cultivation… If they shatter Pan Wu’s Dao with the True Martial Dao, then I win.”

“And even if they fail… I can simply abandon them and find the next host.”

“That’s the advantage of a cheat—so long as I win once, it’s eternal.”

“But what use is this ‘cheat’ to the host?”

Fang Xing began to think.

With his abilities, turning an ordinary mortal into a Twelfth- or even Thirteenth-Realm Celestial Master with endless lifespan was no challenge—but it was useless!

Because his own foundation was still the Pan Wu Dao!

A Celestial Master created from the Pan Wu Dao? Wasn’t that just feeding resources back to Pan Wu’s Dao?

The moment Pan Wu’s consciousness outside might revive within the host, and I’d lose—ritual failed.

“To win… first I must deepen my comprehension of the True Martial Dao—at least grasp its broad framework.”

“Then guide the host to uncover their own power and walk the path of the ‘True Martial Dao’…”

“My cheat system can’t be too strong—no killing grants XP, no daily sign-in rewards for techniques, power, or treasures… even future simulation systems are out.”

“What about a training space with a different time flow from the outside world?”

“Then what? When they hit a bottleneck, breakthrough comes naturally? Isn’t that just my attribute panel’s proficiency system?”

Fang Xing thought it over and decided: “Only these two—no more.”

“Even so, for the host’s sake, I must create martial arts myself—I can’t teach them anything I’ve learned, or disaster will follow…”

After all, everything he knew had since become part of the Pan Wu Dao.

This was why all Dao Lords were trapped.

Their own Dao was already the pinnacle of their essence—how could they forge a new path?

It was as absurd as forcing an ordinary person to become someone entirely different—even changing their genes!

“Unless… I can fully comprehend the True Martial Dao and pass it on…”

Fang Xing closed his eyes and no longer cared for the fleeting time outside.

…

Stars shifted, seas turned to mulberry fields.

What was once a seashore was now a range of towering mountains.

Black flowers covered the peaks as a three-headed bird with a wingspan of dozens of meters flew low overhead.

“Chirp!”

The bird dove, its talons carving elegant arcs, striking a wild boar with a triangular sword-like head.

The boar grunted, trying to resist—but too late.

Plop!

Blood sprayed; the multi-ton boar was snatched up, and the bird became a black dot, vanishing swiftly.

“Damn it… that three-headed bird stole our prey again.”

A rustle in the grass revealed several primitive men, clad in animal hides, all over two meters tall.

One of them, still youthful, cursed.

In their hands were sharpened wooden spears, axes strung with sharp bone shards—clearly well-equipped.

“Qing… what do we do? We’ve been tracking this prey for days, and now it’s gone—our tribe will starve.”

All eyes turned to the slightly older leader.

In this savage age, primitive life was harsh.

Fierce beasts roamed everywhere, fond of eating humans!

And primitives sat low on the food chain.

Only by uniting into small tribes did they stand a chance.

Even then, tribes couldn’t exceed a thousand—otherwise they’d become a buffet for stronger beasts.

Qing, around twenty, was elderly by primitive standards and had vast hunting experience.

“Let’s go to the river… see if we can catch a ‘Bone-Spike Fish’!”

Qing decided: “This time, I’ll be the bait!”

He was the tribe’s most experienced hunter, and Bone-Spike Fish were clever—if the bait was off, they’d sense it.

“Qi… take the stone axe, be ready to strike first.”

“Shang… you spear from behind—don’t pierce the bone scales, only aim where the three white lines meet beneath its lips…”

“Mang…” Qing looked at the young primitive who had spoken first: “You watch for other beasts.”

“Got it.”

Mang gritted his teeth and agreed.

Moments later, by the riverbank.

A fish over two meters long, covered in sharp white bone spines and scales, rolled onto shore.

Instead of retreating into the water, it rolled again—

Its spines made it resemble a spinning porcupine.

Shang, caught off guard, missed the vital spot—his wooden spear snapped with a crack.

“Ahh!”

As the bait, Qing was closest—his body pierced by multiple bloody holes.

!

But the Bone-Spike Fish thrashed twice… then went still.

Mang rushed over and found Qing, pinned beneath the fish, had jammed a bone dagger precisely where the three white lines converged beneath its lips.

“Qing…”

Mang turned to him.

“Cough… I’ve heard the gods’ call. I won’t live.”

Blood trickled from Qing’s lips, yet he smiled with peace: “This is nature…”

His hand fell limp—life gone.

“Alright, Mang… quickly cut up the meat and bones and take them back—the blood will draw beasts soon.”

Shang kicked Mang.

Mang mechanically began working, his eyes occasionally drifting to Qing’s corpse.

“Dying in the wild is our fate… but I don’t want Qing eaten by beasts…”

He set down a large piece of fish meat, then carried a stone and placed it atop Qing’s body.

Soon, a small cairn formed over Qing’s remains.

“It won’t help…”

Qi spoke: “Beasts have keen noses—this little pile won’t stop them…”

Mang said nothing, mechanically repeating his task.

Huh… huh…

He panted—he was only thirteen, the youngest warrior in the tribe.

Mang lifted another stone, the size of an ostrich egg, then froze, staring at its underside: “What’s this?”

He picked up a shard—deep green, about the size of a baby’s fist.

Its surface bore strange, intricate patterns.

“Pretty… probably some warrior’s ornament.”

Qi glanced at it and shook his head.

Mang didn’t care, shoving the stone talisman into his chest, and the group returned to the tribe.

His tribe was nestled in a valley, its main dwellings made of leather tents and conical thatched huts.

“They’re back!”

As the group returned, the savages on the watchtower immediately shouted excitedly.

A group of muscular, well-built women came out to greet them; seeing the fish meat in their hands and the fish bones on their backs, their faces lit up with faint joy.

“Qing… is dead.”

Shang spoke, his voice low.

“The Heavenly Gods claim every soul—it cannot be helped…”

An old grandmother, seemingly in her forties, spoke: “Braves… rest now. We’ll handle the fish meat.”

The savages viewed life and death lightly, even seeing burial in the wild as part of nature’s cycle.

But Mang, watching all this, still felt confused.

He returned to his small hut, collapsed onto the dry grass, and fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the stone talisman in his chest glowing faintly.

…

“Huh? I… where am I?”

Mang awoke to find himself in a gray, hazy space.

Before him, the throne, where various heavenly maidens—slender, plump, each with different postures—faded away, revealing a figure.

The air was filled with incense; the long table overflowed with delicacies he’d never seen—just the scent made his mouth water uncontrollably.

Snap!

Fang Xing snapped his fingers, and everything in the space vanished, leaving only a palace supported by stone steps and pillars.

He sat upon the throne, gazing down at the boy clad in animal hide.

“Who are you? A Heavenly God?”

Mang looked up at the Heavenly God, feeling a terrifying pressure—worse than any ferocious beast he’d ever encountered!

He believed this figure must be the Heavenly God of tribal legend, dwelling high above: “Where is Qing’s spirit?”

“Heavenly God? I am not…”

Fang Xing smiled. At the first sight of the boy, he knew everything about him: “What year is it now? Has the outside world advanced this far?”

(End of Chapter)