Chapter 1638

Zing!

Amid the clang of metal, Ming Jue and Ximen Wudi both spat blood and staggered backward; Ming Chen was too sinister—he had used some secret technique to imprison time.

Looking at Ming Jue's hand, a pitch-black token floated in midair—it was Ming Jue's weapon.

It was more terrifying than the Kui Niu Cauldron, for on that token were imperial Dao divine patterns—not just one, but five or six hundred, each infused with sealing arts; Ming Jue had been injured precisely because of this—he could not unleash imperial Dao arts, and thus was struck down in a single blow by Ming Chen; such power was far beyond an ordinary pseudo-Emperor.

"The son of the Ming Emperor?" Ximen Wudi murmured, dazed; this news was too shocking, leaving him utterly unprepared.

It was no wonder he was so stunned—only because that token was truly terrifying, capable of sealing even a pseudo-Emperor's imperial weapon; its rank surely surpassed Emperor-grade divine weapons, at least an Emperor-grade artifact; most importantly, the Ming Emperor's son had come to the Netherworld—this was deeply suspicious, for both the Ming Emperor and Ming Jue's father were Primordial Sovereigns, twin brothers born of the same mother; such kinship should have meant closeness, yet he had never heard Ming Jue mention this; thus, only one explanation remained: Ming Chen did not want him to know—or he did not know Ming Jue at all, merely treating him as a Primordial Emperor's scion.

"You, indeed, are extraordinary," said Kui Niu, who had now solidified his physical form; though sealed, he refused to yield, glaring fiercely at Ming Chen—he had carried every memory, without omission, into the Netherworld.

"I am indeed extraordinary," Ming Chen chuckled, his laugh ancient and drawn-out, as if descending from heaven.

His openness left Kui Niu bewildered; he had previously suspected that the enmity between the Ming Emperor's son and the Primordial Realm stemmed merely from his status as an Emperor's scion—but now it seemed more like a test.

He was testing, and so too was Ming Jue—if Ming Chen had no ties to the Primordial Realm, why give him a weapon, especially a Primordial Emperor's artifact?

He, too, was testing; he was both the Netherworld's scion and the Primordial Emperor's scion—both were Emperor's heirs; what enmity truly existed between them? Was it truly as the world claimed—that the Ming Emperor and Ming Jue's father were eternal foes, so much so that Ming Jue would rather destroy the entire Primordial Realm than follow the Ming Emperor away?

Hum!

In the silence, another hum arose.

It was Ming Chen's hand, reaching toward Ximen Wudi.

Ximen Wudi's lips twitched, yet he stood rigid, showing no fear—instead, he sneered, "If you dare kill me, my master will hunt you down at any cost."

"I have no use for a pawn trying to redeem himself; since you are a remnant of the Primordial Realm, there is no reason to spare you," Ming Chen murmured, his laugh sinister.

"You..." Ximen Wudi's face turned ashen, staring in terror at Ming Chen, "No... don't, save me!"

Yet no matter how he begged, Ming Chen paid him no heed.

Puff!

With a tearing sound, his head instantly exploded.

"I am the Primordial Emperor's son!" Ximen Wudi screamed, only to be met with Ming Chen's cold, mocking laugh: "The Primordial Realm is dead; you are but a lost soul—rest in peace!"

Aaaah...!

A piercing roar echoed across the Eight Extremes of Haoyu; a true Sovereign-level cultivator perished amid ruins, his final moments filled with disbelief—he had simply died like that.

Puff! Puff!

Ming Chen shot through the void like a divine ray.

Then, Ximen Wudi exploded—his spiritual body shattered, even his soul was obliterated.

Thus, a peak pseudo-Sage-level cultivator vanished entirely, his soul annihilated.

Ming Jue was also caught in the backlash, his chest drenched in blood, pierced through by a single finger—he nearly perished, his Dao destroyed.

Both were severely wounded, spitting blood as they retreated, faces deathly pale, eyes gleaming with desperate hope, awaiting a miracle.

Yet it was futile; Ming Chen had left the Netherworld and would grant them no hope.

"Who are you?" Ming Jue staggered to steady himself, his voice cold.

"I am Ming Chen."

"Ming Chen?" Ming Jue sneered; though he had never joined the ancient expedition, he had heard legends of Ming Chen—that man was a mere mortal body, forging his way through thorns and brambles, defying heaven at every step; across all history, few such prodigies existed; this monstrous genius had vanished long ago, yet now he appeared out of nowhere, leaving Ming Jue stunned—Ming Chen's identity was far from ordinary.

Ming Chen said nothing, standing still, his deep eyes glimmering with a quiet, solitary light, as if hiding countless secrets; even his face was veiled by a thin veil of mist, making his true features impossible to discern.

Puff!

As Ming Chen remained silent, Ming Jue spoke again—spewing a mouthful of old blood, he stumbled and collapsed; when he rose again, his body was drenched in blood and bone, his spine carved with chilling sword wounds still oozing blood—he had lost, defeated horrifically, crushed by Ming Chen to the point of immobility; even his imperial weapon, the bronze furnace, had been flung away and crushed under Ming Chen's palm; now, Ming Chen stood like a peerless war god, surveying the world with disdain.

Ming Jue gritted his teeth, fists clenched, yet dared not move—Ming Emperor's son's aura was truly invincible; with a single thought, he could erase him.

He was no fool; even the Ming Emperor's son had outmaneuvered him—how much less would the old beasts of the Primordial Realm show mercy?

"Your lives, I claim," Ming Chen said calmly, stepping forward, shrinking distance into a single stride, closing in on Ming Jue.

"You... don't you dare!" Ming Jue frantically dodged, but had no chance—he took a solid blow, being flung backward; before he even hit the ground, thick black mist surged forth, forming chains that wrapped around his limbs and torso, binding him tight.

"What... what are you going to do?" Ming Jue struggled violently, yet could not escape.

"Your identity, I now understand; yes, your veins flow with Emperor-blood; you are, indeed, one of our Imperial heirs," Ming Chen smiled, his tone gentle, like a spring breeze.

"Imperial heir?" Ming Jue froze, pupils contracting; he looked up, staring blankly at Ming Chen, "You... you can discern my bloodline?"

His words caused Ming Chen's smile to fade. "That is not important; what matters is that we share a common goal—my parents were slain by the Primordial Realm, and your father, the Ming Emperor, was also killed by them."

"That is my affair—none of your business," Ming Jue snapped, his eyes flashing cold blades.

"You don't understand," Ming Chen shook his head, swept his sleeve and turned away, leaving behind a sigh as he walked toward the heavens, vanishing instantly; only after he left did Ming Jue regain clarity, his expression pained and confused—as if unaware the Primordial Realm still existed.

Puff!

Looking afar, he flew through the air, spewing blood, pinned to the void by a divine arrow; its overbearing force shattered everything, nearly obliterating him—only a sliver of immortal spirit protected his shattered soul as it tumbled to the earth, crashing into a small hill and collapsing it.

Zing!

The clash of metal and iron rang through the nine heavens; the owner of the divine arrow finally revealed himself.

He was a young man, wielding the Huang Quan War Spear, his entire body wreathed in lightning; his forehead bore a mysterious mark, his brilliant eyes radiating golden light that pierced the moonlight, blinding all who gazed upon him; around him surged chaotic energy, each breath accompanied by thunder—as if he were the progenitor of lightning, or the origin of chaos; his strength rivaled a perfected Saint Body—just a single drop of Saint blood could crush the heavens; a single Huang Quan War Spear could slaughter pseudo-Emperors, let alone two.

He was Lei Ting, one of the Three Divine Generals under the Eastern Emperor, a Great Saint-level divine general; his Huang Quan War Spear could slay Emperors, and many Primordial Emperor's scions had fallen to it.

"Primordial Emperor's son," Ming Jue gasped, raising his eyes to Lei Ting, his expression twisted with madness.

"Emperor's son?"

"The Netherworld's Emperor's son?"

"No wonder, no wonder."

"The Primordial Emperor's son truly is extraordinary—to dare enter my Netherworld alone," Lei Ting murmured, descending slowly from the void; each step he took crushed a blossom of lightning beneath his feet—a sight both dazzling and elegant; such cultivators were not only ferocious in battle but masters of flame; each stride spanned hundreds of zhang, and his Huang Quan War Spear whirled so swiftly it formed an impenetrable shield.

"Get lost," Ming Jue roared, leaping up and charging with his killing sword; though suppressed, he was not powerless—because the Ming Emperor's bloodline was too noble; Ming Emperor blood granted immunity against all forbidden arts.

"Overestimating yourself," Lei Jiang sneered, spearing Ming Jue and shattering his arm, while lightning raged, scorching his entire body black.

Ming Jue roared in fury, trying to rise again, but his wounds were too grave—his flesh cracked apart, leaving only his Nascent Soul; his sealed cultivation power scattered, his combat strength utterly gone.

Now, Ming Jue was afraid—a great Chu Imperial Prince, crushed by a Great Sage with no chance to resist.

"Do you recognize My bloodline?" Ming Chen smiled calmly, looking down upon ants, despising all beings; his majesty disregarded Zhao Qiankun, as if he were a god who needed no deliberate spell to tower above all things, drawing impossibly close to the Emperor—perhaps only a thread's width away.

Ming Jue snorted, saying nothing.

He knew Ming Chen well—he had witnessed Ming Chen's rise in the Northern Dipper Star Region, from an ordinary man, a weak cultivator, to near-Emperor status; within a mere hundred years, he reached the pinnacle of Great Chu, contending with Ximen Wudi—a tale etched in eternity.

"How could our imperial heir ever bow to another nation?" Ming Jue sneered again.

"You need not provoke Me," Ming Chen smiled. "I am Ming Chen—I shall keep My promise and return you to your homeland."

As he spoke, Ming Chen waved his hand—a magnificent immortal sea appeared, spanning eight thousand zhang, engulfing Ming Jue and dragging him down into its depths; then the immortal sea slowly sealed shut.

1425 used the Emperor Artifact to kill Ming Chen

"Ming Chen, I curse you to die a wretched death!" Ming Jue shrieked, hysterical as a mad dog, his hatred unmatched—he had planned to use the Emperor Artifact to kill Ming Chen, yet never imagined he would perish in the Emperor Tribulation.

This surprise came too suddenly; he was utterly unprepared.

Ming Chen paid no heed, turning and vanishing into the ethereal.

He had never once looked at Ming Jue with so much as a glance—his demeanor treated him as a stepping stone, a discarded pawn; even in death, he stirred not the faintest ripple.

"My bloodline."

"Our clan's bloodline."

Ming Jue's voice, broken and aged with grief, brimmed with regret, hatred, and venom…

Yet no one pitied his sorrow—everything he suffered was his own doing.

Ah…!

With Ming Jue's final roar swallowed by the boundless deep, a great imperial heir perished in the river of history, along with his imperial Dao legacy.

Boom! Crash! Boom—!

Not long after Ming Jue's fall, thunderous roars erupted repeatedly—Ming Fu's armies had each found their targets, besieging factions across the Yinming Continent; one after another, lands ran red with blood, corpses piled across the vast plains, a brutal massacre underway.

This battle lasted until dawn.

When the smoke finally cleared, the bloody scene emerged—the entire Yinming Continent was drenched in crimson; every inch of soil, every ancient tree, every blade of grass turned a bone-white, snowy white, frost-white—so thick the heavens themselves were veiled in icy crystals; the blood-soaked world wrapped in a heavy shroud of frost.