Outside the dome, Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei did not stop. Their attacks came like a drumbeat, steady and brutal. Old Jin's sword drew bright arcs through the air, each slash carrying layered force that carved ripples into the barrier's surface. He stepped in, twisted his wrist, and sent a crescent of pale blade-light that bit into a spreading crack, then followed with a vertical chop that made the entire wall shudder.
Wei hammered down with the 44 Mountain Seal, both hands locked, veins raised along his arms. The seal crashed like a falling mountain, rebounded, then came down again without pause. When the seal lifted, he stepped forward and drove a bare-knuckled punch into the same spot, knuckles splitting and healing as he cycled power, then hurled the seal once more with a roar. Sword sang, seal boomed, and the cracks began to branch like lightning trapped in glass. Dust rose, sky vibrated, and the barrier's hum turned ragged, as if breathing too hard.
Yan Fei and Mo Gu stood off to the side, watching in silence. Yan Fei's gaze traced the rhythm of the strikes, counting the breath between impacts. Mo Gu watched the cracks, not the men, measuring how the barrier stitched and failed, stitched and failed, a little slower each time.
...
Then everything changed.
Just as the barrier seemed ready to give way, the celestial omen above turned wild. The nine-colored light that had been spreading across the sky suddenly pulsed once—hard—and the entire sky tightened, as if drawn by a giant hand. The colors contracted at terrifying speed and rushed toward the dome, streams of divine light falling like rivers poured backward. The world went quiet in shock. Even those who had seen a hundred battles and ten thousand deaths were left without words.
The four experts—Jin, Wei, Mo Gu, Yan Fei—exchanged a single glance and reached the same conclusion without speaking. This was the final moment. Whoever was inside was about to cross the boundary. The colors slammed into the dome and vanished within. The sky went clear in an instant, as if someone had wiped paint from glass.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
...
Then the dome exploded from the inside.
A pillar of green light speared upward through the barrier, breaking it like thin ice. The shockwave blasted outward in a ring, tossing Old Man Wei and Old Man Jin back through the air. Jin spun once, landed in a crouch, sword digging a furrow to bleed off force. Wei skidded backward, boots carving trenches before he slammed the seal down to anchor himself, teeth bared, eyes blazing.
The green pillar did not stop. It climbed the sky—fast, clean, alive—like a towering tree growing in a single breath. As it rose, the heavens answered. Three more pillars descended from above—red, blue, and purple—falling straight down to the earth in a wide triangle around the ascending green light. Their impact shook the land; their glow boxed the world in color. The scene held everyone in a trance: a green column rising from the shattered dome, crowned and caged by three falling pillars that struck the ground like celestial stakes.
Almost no one present had ever seen anything like it. For many, it was the first time in their lives they understood what an omen could do to the heart—fill it with fear and hunger at once. Even the oldest hands, those who had seen sects rise and empires crack, stared up with their faces lit by green, red, blue, and purple, and knew they would remember this day forever.
The barrier around the dome tore open further, great plates of law-light peeling away and dissolving like frost under the sun. Cracks ran to the base and then split free with a ringing sound, as if a thousand fine strings had been cut. The last threads of the formation shrank, sparked, and went dark. What had been a cage for so long was now a broken mouth.
Inside the dome, the effect was immediate. Nascent Souls flared like lanterns in the light. Core Formation experts rose from the ground without meaning to, buoyed by instinct, then took control and shot upward through gaps in the canopy.
They burst into the open air, faces tipped to the sky, bathed in the light of the four pillars. Some hovered in place, too stunned to move. Others turned immediately toward the collapsed edge of the dome, eyes hungry to see the outside world again—or to see who had dared to make the sky answer.
"Look at that!" someone shouted, voice breaking. "The dome is broken!"
"Who did this?"
"What is happening?"
On the ground, groups split fast. The cautious pulled back into cover, eyes on the four pillars as if they were blades about to fall. The bold flew toward the breach, hoping to be the first to seize whatever chance came next. A few looked for friends gone missing, hope sharpening into a plan now that their power had returned.
...
Above the wreckage, Old Man Jin wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand and rose, sword steady. Old Man Wei rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and lifted the 44 Mountain Seal again with a grin that was all teeth—pain and joy mixed into one expression.
Mo Gu narrowed his eyes, measuring the distances between the pillars, the angles, the way the light flowed as if feeding a central point. Yan Fei watched the air itself, feeling how it bent and sang; then he looked toward the dome's heart and quietly said, "Amazing!"
From the shattered rim, waves of dust drifted outward like fog. Heat rolled up from the ground where the pillars met the earth, not burning but clean, a heat that smelled like rain on stone. The green column continued to climb, alive and steady. The three descending pillars—red, blue, and purple—stood like sentinels around it, their light sinking into the soil and the cracked remains of law-scripts etched into the land.
Nascent Souls and Core Formation cultivators circled at a distance, unsure how close was safe. Some pressed closer anyway, curiosity winning over fear. A few tried to probe with spiritual sense and flinched back as if stung, eyes watering from something they couldn't name.
On a torn ledge of ground, two brothers stood and whispered, "If this is Deity Transformation—". "Then we are insects," the other said, not sadly, just honestly.
...
Yan Fei lifted a hand slightly. "Stay alert," he said, hinting at Old Jin and Wei.
Old Man Jin nodded. But, didn't look back.
Mo Gu exhaled slowly. "Finally, we will know who it is."
The four pillars hummed in low harmony, and the sound crawled into bones. The sky above felt taller, the ground beneath steadier and stranger at once. The green pillar climbed. The red, blue, and purple held. The dome lay in pieces like a broken shell. And all around, men and women set their jaws, tightened their grips, and prepared for the moment when the light would fade and the new deity would be revealed.
...
Outside and inside the shattered dome, all eyes rose to the sky.
The green pillar kept climbing like a living tree reaching for the heavens, calm and unstoppable, while the three pillars around it—blue, red, and purple—suddenly halted mid-air. They didn't fall, and they didn't vanish. They froze, as if something invisible had told them to wait.
Then the three pillars began to thin, their colors fading like mist under sunlight. From the heart of each one, a blinding white orb emerged—one from the red, one from the blue, one from the purple. The orbs shone so brightly that for a moment it felt like four suns hung above the world: the real sun veiled by light, and these three new, holy stars born from an omen.
Inside the dome, people shaded their eyes and stared, stunned. Core Formation and Nascent Soul cultivators, humans, demi-humans, and many more rose from the trees to get a better view. They hovered in groups, whispering, arguing, or simply watching in silence. Many had never seen anything close to this in all their lives. More than a few forgot the danger around them, lost in the sight.
Outside the dome, the hidden watchers finally stepped out of the shadows. The omen was too grand, the sight too rare to keep lurking like thieves. Lone cultivators stood shoulder-to-shoulder with sect elites, mercenaries near monks, enemies near enemies—but no one struck. For once, the heavens demanded attention, and even hatred paused to listen.
-
Only four among the crowd truly understood what those three white orbs meant the moment they appeared: Old Man Jin, Old Man Wei, Yan Fei, and Mo Gu. They exchanged brief looks but did not move. Their auras stayed leashed, their feet planted. They knew what others did not: to take action now, while the green pillar was still rising, would not just be foolish—it would invite calamity from the heavens itself.
Slowly, the blinding shine softened. The white peeled back like silk, revealing what lay inside each orb.
From the red pillar's orb: a Deity Formation Gu. It floated with a quiet, steady pulse, its presence like a living oath. Even at a distance, seasoned cultivators felt their skin prickle. This was no common Gu—it carried the mark of law and the weight of ascension. Deity Formation Gu is a natural Gu born during the breakthrough to Deity Transformation. It can help someone at the Soul Transformation stage directly advance to Deity Formation.
From the blue pillar's orb: a Grade 7 Artifact Core. It looked simple on the surface, like a smooth, star-bright crystal, but its depths were endless. Black threads—like hair-thin rivers—ran within it, shifting and connecting as if a forge lived inside the gem, waiting for the right hand to call it to life. Artifact cores are divided into eight grades, just like artifacts. However, cores are far more expensive. Even four grade-seven artifacts are not enough to purchase a single grade-seven core. This is because an artifact of grade seven or eight that has been refined using a grade-seven core is vastly superior to a normal one. In fact, even grade-seven artifacts are normally refined using grade-five or grade-six cores.
From the purple pillar's orb: a Deity Stabilisation Pill. Its fragrance reached even those far away, faint and clean, like the first breath after rain on old stone. Those who knew pills felt their throats tighten—this was the kind of medicine that can hold a breaking sky together, the kind that steadies a new Deity when their power tries to tear them apart.
Gasps rippled through the air. Greed sparked in many eyes, then flickered and shrank when they glanced at the soaring green light. Even the desperate weren't reckless enough to try their luck now.
"What are those…?" someone whispered.
"Gifts," an elder said hoarsely. "Heaven's gifts."
"Then who are they for?"
"The one in the green."
Inside the dome, Han Chen watched, quiet and focused. From his sea of consciousness, Yue Ruo kept her gaze fixed on the gifts and the pillar. She didn't speak, but her expression hardened in a way that said everything.
...
The reason for the heaven's gifts was simple, and anyone experienced enough could piece it together: when a new Deity is born, the laws of the world become thick and loud around that birthplace. Power gathers, patterns align, and in that alignment heaven and earth condense into tools and essences that match the moment's weight—and gifts are born, exactly what the new deity most needs. These are not random treasures, but omens made solid—blessings, bribes, and bargains from the heavens itself.
Old Man Wei tilted his head, studying the trio of gifts with naked interest. "Rare to see three," he muttered. "Rarer to see them this pure."
Most Deity Transformations only get two Heaven's gifts.
Old Man Jin didn't take his eyes off the green pillar.
Mo Gu's gaze tracked invisible arcs between the three treasures and the rising light. "If anyone tries to snatch one now, the lightning will not let them," he said dryly.
Yan Fei nodded once. "When the green pillar falls, the true game begins."
All around, the crowd understood the same truth a heartbeat later. A hundred bold plans died quietly in their owners' chests. Hands loosened on hilts. Movement slowed. The smarter ones shifted their positions—not to strike, but to be first when the moment turned.
Inside the dome, the last bits of the old barrier cracked away and fell like brittle shells. Suppression was gone. Qi flowed freely. Groups split—some heading for the breach to escape, others pushing toward the center, drawn by the light and the promise of change.
A few gathered in cautious rings under the pillars' edges, testing how close they could go without burning.
The green pillar kept rising. It was calmer now, steadier, as if the hardest part was over and the rest was only completion. The three treasures hung at fixed points like stars caught low over the earth. Their auras threaded through the land and sky, weaving faint patterns across the broken ground. Symbols flashed and vanished, too fast to memorize, too old to decode.
A Nascent Soul master from a minor sect spoke in a hushed voice to his students: "Remember this. You may never see it again."
"Master," one asked, "will the gifts choose the one in the pillar?"
"They already have," he said. "But heaven's gifts are like bait in shark water. The moment the sea calms—everything bites."
...
Old Man Wei chuckled under his breath. "Haven't had a true free-for-all in years."
Old Man Jin gave him a sidelong look. "Your bones are too old for free-for-alls."
Wei grinned. "That's what the 44 mountains seal is for."
Mo Gu rolled his shoulders, measuring the distance to each treasure and the paths others would take. Yan Fei listened to the wind as if it carried words. It did, in a way—fear, hunger, faith, and plans all make their own kind of weather.
Above them, the green light finally slowed. It didn't stop. It simply climbed with the patience of a heartbeat, each pulse gentler than the last. Somewhere at its base, deep inside the broken dome, a new center of gravity had formed—a place where laws leaned inward, where power took a name.
On a ledge of cracked stone, a young cultivator clenched his fists until his knuckles blanched. "If I could take just one…"
His elder grabbed his shoulder. "If you want to die."
"Tch..." the young cultivator snorted.
A flock of silent shadows—assassins or scouts, it didn't matter—spread along the edges, marking angles, measuring lines, counting seconds between breaths. Farther back, sect banners began to appear as hidden groups decided hiding had no point. The Fire Alliance cluster shifted position as well, their experts moving to a vantage point that could cover the breach and rescue Hizler at once.
...
Inside the dome, Han Chen drew a slow breath. The light painted lines along his face, calm and sharp.
High above, the three gifts turned slowly in place, tugging at hearts and plans like tides tug at the sea. No one dared leap. Not yet. Even fools can read the sky when it is this bright.
The reason the heavens send gifts at births like this—everyone felt it now, even if they couldn't explain it: the world wants its new Deity to stand. If he falls in the first steps, the balance breaks in the wrong direction. So heaven throws down tools to steady the climb. But heavens are not kind—they are practical. Once the gift is given, the fight for it is mortal. That, too, is part of the test.
The green pillar breathed again, taller than towers, taller than mountains. The last tremors in its body smoothed out. A shiver passed through the air like a string being tuned.
Old Man Jin lowered his sword a fraction. Old Man Wei rolled his neck. Mo Gu's hands opened and closed once. Yan Fei's eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in focus. Across the field, across the dome, across the sky, every fighter and watcher felt the same invisible click inside themselves.
It was nearly time.
The red pillar's path had left warmth in the soil. The blue pillar's echo hummed in the meridians of anyone who dared to sense it. The purple pillar's scent lingered like a promise not to break. And the green pillar—still rising—was the line drawn through the middle of all their choices.
No one moved on the treasures.
Everyone moved in their minds.
And over everything, the heavens held their breath, waiting to see what the new Deity would do first—and who would dare to move second.
...
The green pillar shuddered and sent a shock wave across the sky. Its climb slowed, then burst apart into drifting strands of emerald light, like leaves scattered by a storm. That same instant, a second shock wave rolled through the air—silent but heavy—warping space into ripples that flowed outward in strange, angular patterns. The waves were circular, but their surfaces were faceted, as if countless triangles were stitched together to make each ring.
Out of that ripple stepped a man.
He walked on air as if it were solid ground, each step sending another angular wave through space. His hair was long and loose, pure white, and so were his brows. His face, though, was young—bright with a sharp, unyielding vitality. His upper body was bare—skin unmarred, lean and carved—while his lower garments looked torn and battle-worn, as if he had climbed out of a thousand fights to get here. He looked ragged, but somehow still royal—like a king who'd bled in his own wars and never once bowed.
He took another step. Space rippled again—faceted, triangular, flawless—and a black robe formed across his body in a single, fluid shimmer. At the same time, a circular halo kindled behind his head. It wasn't simple light. It turned like a slow coin, half black, half white—like yin and yang. But where the two small dots should have been, two emblems burned instead: a sun and a moon, set opposite each other, balanced.
The sight stopped everyone cold.
Inside the broken dome, in the torn forest and the hovering air, cultivators just stared, caught between fear and awe. Outside the former barrier, the hidden watchers had already come out of the shadows—and now they went still, drinking in the figure and the truth that came with him.
Some didn't know the face. But most could guess the name.
Yan Fei's eyes narrowed slightly. In the quiet of his own mind, he thought, "Wang Zhen… so it was you. How are you still alive?"
Mo Gu's brow tensed. "I've never seen this person here before," he said under his breath.
"And he's stepping out of Lord Heavenly Law's blessed land… does that mean—"
.
The man in the sky answered for him.
"Who," he said calmly, voice carrying like a blade through rain, "wanted to break through my blessed land?"
He took a single step forward.
The air boomed.
A shock wave exploded outward from his footfall—clean, angled, heavy—rushing toward Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei. They braced, but it was like trying to hold back a falling cliff. Both were thrown backward through the air. Jin twisted and planted his sword to slow his tumble, boots tearing long scars through the shattered ground. Wei grounded the 44 Mountain Seal with a roar and skidded in a shower of dust and stone before he ground to a halt—eyes lit, blood hot, grin feral.
The sky quieted again. The halo turned once more behind the white-haired man's head, sun and moon symbols glinting on opposite sides of the circle.
All understood then what the shattered "dome" truly was. It had never been a simple barrier. It was a blessed land—an independent pocket realm hidden in the folds of the void, able to open whenever its owner chose. In normal times, only the master could open it at will. But Wang Zhen had been too weakened—broken so low he could not even lift his own door. So he waited. He let the world hammer his closed gate until the noise shook the lock from the inside. And when the omen came, he rose.
Fragments of the old formation crumbled in the air like dull glass and vanished into nothing. The three heaven-sent gifts still hung where they had settled—the Deity Formation Gu pulsing softly, the Grade 7 Artifact Core turning like a captured star, the Deity Stabilisation Pill giving off a clean, rain-cold scent. No one moved on them. Not while the halo burned and the man in the air looked like judgment given a body.
Wang Zhen's gaze swept the field once—Jin, Wei, Yan Fei, Mo Gu—measuring and finished in a breath. His eyes held no hurry. He had just been born again. He had all the time he needed.
Old Man Jin lifted his sword and inclined his head the smallest fraction. Not tribute—acknowledgment. Old Man Wei rolled his shoulders, set the seal across his back, and cracked a grin that said plainly he hadn't come this far to flinch now.
.
Yan Fei's hands stayed at his sides, relaxed, ready. He watched the halo, not the robe. Mo Gu inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the laws in the air—the way the world itself seemed to lean a little toward the man who had just stepped out of the green.
Inside the blessed land's broken shell, a dozen smaller dramas started up again as cultivators found nerve after awe. Some lifted into the air, circling wide, trying to see without being seen. Others slipped into the trees; a few knelt; more simply stared.
Han Chen's eyes followed the rippling space as if counting the angles.
Wang Zhen's robe moved in a wind that wasn't there. The halo's shadowed side deepened, and the bright side sharpened, sun and moon seeming to trade places as the circle turned. He didn't need to shout. The land itself felt quieter when he breathed.
"This place," he said, voice even, "is mine."
His words rolled across the field and set the dust down.
"How dare you try to break in?" He added.
.
Old Man Jin chuckled once, low. "You've got a good way with hellos."
...
Yan Fei finally spoke, tone leveled. "Congratulations, fellow Wang, on your breakthrough."
For a breath, nobody moved.
The three heavenly gifts glowed faintly, the threads of their auras humming across the torn ground. The green, now scattered into drifting light, sank slowly and melted into the earth like dew at dawn. The sky returned to its normal color—but felt larger, as if it remembered being opened.
Wang Zhen lowered his head a touch, eyes half-lidded. Power sank and spread through the air like heat through metal—controlled, coiled, close. He didn't reach for the gifts. He didn't need to. They hung patient, as if they knew who would claim them when the ceremony ended and business began.
Everyone present understood the story, even if they hadn't known all its words until now: a blessed land sealed in the void, a master too broken to open it, a world that hammered the lock, a man who bit the pain down until the sky itself fed him, and a door that opened from the inside out.
Wang Zhen took one more step on the air. The triangular ripples spread again, slow and precise, clipping the edges of reality like a craftsman's blade trimming a fine edge. The halo brightened—sun and moon sharp as coins.
"Answer me," he said, not loudly, but so every ear heard him. "Why did you try to break in?"
Old Man Wei grinned wider. Old Man Jin's knuckles paled on his hilt.
Around them, the crowd held its breath.
The new Deity stood under a sky that had only just stopped burning, royal in bearing, and the world waited to learn whether this birth would break it—or bind it tighter than before.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----