A storm of emotion swept through the entire Mountain and River Court. Every disciple of Yuhua Sect felt something wild stir within them—jealousy, awe, regret, dread.
Those who had once mocked Fang Han were now filled with bitter regret. Those who had wronged him trembled in fear. When he had first defied Hua Tiandu, nearly every disciple in the sect had despised him, believing him doomed. Now, they realized how wrong they'd been—and how terrifying his revenge might be.
For Fang Han, a newly ascended cultivator of the Divine Ability Realm, becoming a True Disciple was now a certainty—carved in stone.
"This is a blessing for our Yuhua Sect!" shouted one elder from the stands, unable to hide his excitement. "Another has ascended to the Divine Ability Realm! We must report this immediately to the upper halls!"
"Indeed! This is monumental!" another elder said, his voice trembling with joy.
"The Grand Celestial Gathering approaches, and our sect needed new strength. To think fortune would deliver it so soon!"
"Truly remarkable. Normally, one must win the Mountain and River Ranking to earn the Yin-Yang Longevity Pill to even hope of stepping into the Divine Ability Realm. But Fang Han—he's done it by himself! What a miracle!"
"Miracle indeed," murmured another. "I don't know what fortune he stumbled upon, but it's a blessing for the whole sect."
Jialan exhaled slowly and reclined back into her chair, her face blooming with a sweet, knowing smile. "Well, Lingxiao, it seems you won't be getting my Milky Way Bracelet after all. Your beloved Heavenwood Needle? I'll be keeping it."
"Not necessarily." Lingxiao's face had darkened, though his tone was still cool. "Fang Han may have just entered the Divine Ability Realm, but that doesn't mean he's mastered his power. Ye Nantian still holds two treasure artifacts—the Eight Desolation Divine Sword and the Gate of Samsara. The outcome isn't settled yet."
Jialan arched a brow. "The Gate of Samsara is powerful, yes—but do you really think Ye Nantian can wield its full potential? And that Fang Han's power is 'new'? You saw it yourself—his mana surged like a hundred galloping horses. No one would believe he only just ascended."
Lingxiao narrowed his eyes, his fingers tapping rhythmically as he stared hard at the arena below. "Then let's see what secrets he's hiding."
Among all those shaken, none was more unhinged than Fang Qingwei.
"This can't be! Impossible! That servant—stepping into the Divine Ability Realm? No! Never! That's a step to godhood itself, more exalted than any emperor!"
She shot to her feet, trembling violently—whether from fury, fear, or disbelief, even she couldn't tell. Around her, the disciples who had once fawned over her now subtly edged away, as if afraid her hysteria might spread.
Below, the arena was chaos—cheers, gasps, and the searing heat of unleashed mana filled the air. Yet despite Fang Han's breakthrough, the duel continued. The Mountain and River Ranking's rules were iron—ten thousand years old and unyielding.
Ye Nantian's face had gone deathly pale.
He had never imagined that Fang Han had hidden so deep. At this most critical moment, Fang Han had struck like lightning, shattering his confidence.
He himself had reached the pinnacle of the Tenth Body Transformation, standing at the very brink of the Divine Ability Realm. The closer he'd come, the more he'd realized how impossible that final step truly was—a chasm only the truly destined could cross.
A peak mortal body could match the strength of a Shura, capable of restraining thirteen Xuanhuang Horses, beasts that could gallop three thousand miles a day. With extreme talent, one might manage fifteen. But even the lowest Divine Ability cultivator could, with a mere gesture, seize eighty such horses from the air. The leap in power was colossal—six to seven times greater—and not merely in strength.
Mana and physical might were two entirely different forces. Mana flowed, extended, and permeated everything—it could burn, drown, or pierce through steel. Where brute strength was rigid, mana was infinite and ever-changing.
Such a transformation required immense fortune and vast spiritual energy.
As Fang Han floated in midair, his robe rippling with power, his eyes cold and steady, Ye Nantian felt for the first time like prey beneath a predator's gaze.
But fury rose within him—burning hot and poisonous. Jealousy. Defiance. Pride.
"Fang Han!" he roared. "Don't think that stepping into the Divine Ability Realm makes you invincible! I hold two treasure artifacts—I'll show you the true power of the Gate of Samsara!"
He barked a command, and the Eight Desolation Divine Sword, which had earlier formed a sphere of defense, suddenly compressed again. With a grinding metallic shriek, it reshaped into a gleaming set of battle armor.
The Eight Desolation War Armor—sharper and sturdier than the Heavenly Wolf Armor—its surface shimmered with endless sword light, blades of energy constantly expanding and contracting. Anyone who dared approach would be shredded in an instant.
With a flash, Ye Nantian exploded into motion—a comet of steel and fury.
"Didn't you say you'd give me three moves?" Fang Han said calmly. "Why the rush?"
He raised one hand—then simply clenched his fingers.
The air itself rippled.
A tremendous invisible pressure swept through the arena, as if the air had turned thick and viscous like molten glue. Ye Nantian froze mid-flight, caught in an unseen web, limbs straining in vain. He thrashed and roared, but the space around him held firm.
"What power!" Fang Han thought, eyes narrowing. "If not for the Star-Gathering Elixir, I might not be able to contain him."
Even through the restraint, he could feel the raw might of the Eight Desolation Sword—it was enough to drag seventy or eighty Xuanhuang Horses with ease, a true Divine Ability-grade treasure.
Yet Fang Han was undaunted. His mana surged like a tidal wave, and he thrust his spiritual sense straight into the armor's blazing energy field.
He was trying to seize it—to tear away Ye Nantian's spiritual mark and claim the weapon for himself.
Artifacts refined through blood sacrifice were most vulnerable to this—especially those bound by cultivators below the Divine Ability Realm. It was the same reason mortals avoided fighting those above them: one clash could strip them of their treasures.
Fang Han remembered well—how Fang Qingxue had once taken the Seven Fiends Gourd with a single strike. And later, when Jinshitai tried to wrest it from him, he had nearly lost consciousness, saved only by Yan's secret intervention.
Now, it was his turn.
"Not good!"
Ye Nantian's eyes went wide as his mind blurred, a sudden dizziness washing over him. Fang Han's mana had already surrounded him completely, seeping into every inch of his armor, clawing at the very core of his blood-bound spirit.
If that mark was erased—
the Eight Desolation Divine Sword would no longer be his.