Chapter 351: Rebirth in the Filth

The Third War of the Martial World?

In front of the dozen or so Fourth Transformation experts present, Fang Can made his official announcement: he would ignite the war single-handedly.

“You actually intend to declare war on all our nations?” The Emperor of Chu’s face darkened: “Just you and Dayan?”

“No, no, no—just me alone,” Fang Can spread his hands, relaxed. “Dayan is merely my battlefield; they won’t lift a finger.”

“The voices of your nations are too shrill. If you lose, from this day forward, all your nations shall become history—only one nation, one voice, shall remain.”

“The battle begins in three days. Observe the rules,” Fang Can said calmly. “I’ve already restrained myself from killing you outright. I hope you’ll show the same restraint.”

Fang Can looked toward Huijia Shuimen: “You’ve talked too much. It seems even the mental imprint can’t suppress your original nature. Take me back.”

As he spoke, Huijia Shuimen’s eyes went blank, and he stepped forward to teleport Fang Can away.

But how could the Fourth Transformation experts around him allow it?

In an instant, even the Emperor of Chu curled his fingers slightly; his heart-image solidified from void into reality—a spiraling spear that howled through wind and thunder, poised to pierce Huijia Shuimen.

Not just him—seven Fourth Transformation experts all struck at once, fearing Huijia Shuimen would take Fang Can away.

Each launched their most violent assault—either at Fang Can or at Huijia Shuimen!

These dozen Fourth Transformation experts, the pinnacle of power among all nations, each a sovereign of their own domain.

Now, united in assault, even before they fully gathered their Qi, the air around them roared like a storm, heaven and earth darkened.

Yet in that same instant, before Fang Can moved, his clone slipped into the wind.

The next moment, invisible power spread—his clone split into seven, each confronting one of the attackers.

“Roar—”

The Fourth Transformation giant who had earlier withstood the thunderstorm bellowed, like an ancient god standing between heaven and earth.

Beneath his feet, the land for a thousand li transferred its weight into his body, transforming gravity into a tidal wave of crushing force.

With this apocalyptic power, his fist—like a comet bearing down—crashed toward the surrounded Fang Can.

But what awaited them was the clone’s superior counterattack.

Boom—

Amid ear-splitting shockwaves, most of the Fourth Transformation experts spat blood and were flung backward, carving deep trenches through the shattered ruins.

Only two, whose strengths lay in defense and raw power, barely withstood the clone’s assault.

‘How is this possible?’

The remaining Fourth Transformation experts, still frozen in place, stared in disbelief—Fang Can hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time.

“Whether it’s one ant or seven ants, to me they’re all dirt to be crushed underfoot.”

Fang Can crossed his arms, sneering: “Had I not wanted this war game to be more entertaining, you’d have been crushed the moment you moved.”

“Ants, dance wildly in slaughter, struggle desperately in the face of my death.”

As he spoke, Huijia Shuimen stood before Fang Can.

His arm draped over Fang Can’s shoulder, he activated the Flying Thunder God Technique—their figures blurred, and they vanished, leaving only wreckage behind.

‘Such power…’

Standing atop the ruins, the Fourth Transformation experts’ faces were grim.

“Pah—” The giant spat blood, his eyes burning with fury from being thrown: “I haven’t even used my full strength. Next time we meet, it won’t be this easy.”

“Enough. Go prepare,” said a thin, middle-aged Fourth Transformation expert. “If he hadn’t left, and we’d fought, even with our ancestral legacies, at least half of us here would be dead.”

“Clearly, he means this war. The Fourth Transformation priests’ prophecy may come true—another mountain of corpses, a sea of blood. Who knows how many Fourth Transformation experts will die.” Ye Hao said.

“If he wants to fight, then let him fight,” the Emperor of Chu sneered. “He gives us three days to prepare? He thinks this is a child’s game.”

“This is nothing like three months ago! Three days is enough to mobilize every sect. Even those old Fourth Transformation bastards hiding in the shadows should come out and breathe some air.”

“He wants war? Then we’ll give him war! Let’s see who claims victory in the end!”

A Fourth Transformation expert crawled from the rubble, sneering—but his voice carried unmistakable rage, for having been buried alive like this.

…

While these Fourth Transformation experts spoke, beneath the outskirts of Dayan, countless ancient coffins stood upright, and countless unconscious men and women lay sprawled across the ground.

Feng Qiaoyan’s invisible waves enveloped the skull of the unconscious man before her, wiping clean his vast store of memories.

Her ability was called [Psychic Bomb]: by touch, she could erase a person’s memories.

Half a day ago, she had been training when Fang Can came to her, asking her to erase the memories of those who had climbed the Ascension Path.

As for the purpose of erasing memories…

Feng Qiaoyan’s gaze shifted right—there stood a middle-aged man with a square face, his hand pressed against the brains of the memory-erased martial artists.

This square-faced man was, of course, the Wastrel King, borrowing the power of the Mind King.

As he poured torrents of memories into the martial artists’ minds, their bodies began visible transformations.

No matter how many times she saw it, Feng Qiaoyan marveled at martial artists—spirit was primary, far more vital than the body.

Beside him, the Second Transformation martial artist’s appearance had changed into that of a sturdy, dark-haired man with a simple, honest face.

“Your name is Agni now. Your legacy is Eternal Flame—so long as your will endures, the fire never dies,” the Wastrel King said, chuckling.

“Perfect. Go lie in the coffin next to Erhuan Jin Muyan and Alan!”

Under the Wastrel King’s control, Agni’s body moved like a puppet, expressionless, stepping into a massive coffin arranged in a row of three.

With a thunderous crash, the coffin lid slammed shut!

Shhh—

Fang Can and Huijia Shuimen appeared upon the pre-marked runes.

Looking at the Wastrel King, Fang Can asked: “How are the soldiers prepared?”

“Perfect. With Feng Qiaoyan’s Psychic Bomb helping clear their memories, injecting new ones became much simpler.”

The Wastrel King gave a thumbs-up. “But the only problem—we only have one Fourth Transformation martial artist. Too few.”

“No matter. The enemy is our granary. The later the battle, the larger our army grows. The main issue now is the foot soldiers—we have too few First Transformation units for attrition.”

“Over the next three days, I’ll capture tens of thousands of players for study.”

“Their immortal bodies are interesting. I wonder if I can erase their consciousness.”

(End of Chapter)