CHAPTER 222: HATRED OF THE HEAVENLY DEMONS

At last, the old man beside him — Wuji, The Undying Martial Emperor and the representative of the High Elders, spoke in a calm, measured tone that silenced the restless murmurs of the room.

"Then... are we to prepare our disciples for this?"

His expression remained tranquil, but his eyes carried the heavy weariness of countless eras — the kind only those who had lived through ages of glory and decline could possess.

Fang Wu nodded, clasping his hands behind his back, his bearing steady and regal.

"Yes, Senior Wuji. The Ancestor’s will has been declared. We will prepare our peak for the upcoming selection. The moment his divine sign manifests... every peak will move."

Wuji’s brows twitched slightly, though he said nothing.

He wished to mention the disciples still cultivating in the Upper Realm, but in the end, he swallowed his words. If the Martial Ancestor himself had decreed this, then questioning his will would be foolish.

Fang Wu’s gaze swept across the assembly once more, lingering on each Elder. A faint smile. half solemn, half laced with ambition, curved his lips.

"But when that time comes," he said, his voice resonating through the hall like a distant war drum, "the glory of inheritance must belong to Martial Heaven Peak. After all..."

His tone softened into something sly.

"And it’s not as if the Ancestor instructed us to inform the other peaks in advance."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The Elders exchanged glances — some thoughtful, others smiling faintly in understanding. It seems than no matter what, their Ancestor wanted the legacy to fall within the Martial Heaven Peak, though he would give a chance to all the disciples of the sect.

Those words fell like thunder, heavy with implication.

Every Elder, whether present in body or through projection, could feel the tremor deep in their souls.

The storm was coming — and when it broke, the heavens themselves would bear witness to who was truly worthy of the Ancestor’s legacy.

Fang Wu’s smile deepened.

It was faint, cold, and unmistakably slightly devious.

After all, no one would want their Ancestor’s legacy to fall in other’s hands even if they are the disciples of the same sect.

’It seems even I am not prone to temptations.’ Wuji, The Undying Martial Emperor thought, he too wanted his disciple to inherit the legacy of their Ancestor.

***

Battle Tower, Main Martial Heaven Peak

Though it was deep into the night, disciples still moved in and out of the Battle Tower, their robes fluttering in the golden mist that eternally surrounded it.

Like the Chaos Tower, it stood as a colossal pagoda piercing the heavens, its edges gleaming with sacred light. Golden runes crawled across its surface, pulsing with power that seemed to challenge the very will of heaven itself.

Then, the tower pulsed.

At first, it was faint, a soft heartbeat against the night.

But in the next instant, a vast wave of golden radiance erupted outward, enveloping the entire tower and spreading across the peak like a tidal surge of light.

Disciples froze mid-step, gazes drawn upward as the golden glow reflected in their eyes. Some watched in awe.

Others, especially the ones informed, wore solemn expressions.

Within moments, the radiance had engulfed the entire Martial Heaven Peak, spreading even further until the very skies above the Mini Heaven Immortal Sect blazed with gold.

The other peaks erupted into confusion.

"What is happening?"

"Is it a natural phenomenon?!"

"No... that direction... it’s Martial Heaven Peak!"

Elders scrambled to contact their peak masters, and emergency meetings were convened one after another. But even they could only stare in stunned silence as the light continued to expand.

From the outside — in the lower realms if someone was outside the sect’s mini realm, they could see it clearly: a pillar of golden light, vast as eternity, anchored through the endless barrier that separated the lower realms from the upper realms.

On the top of the Battle Tower, two figures appeared silently.

Fang Wu, the Peak Master, stood tall, his expression a mix of reverence and expectation.

Beside him was Wuji, the Undying Martial Emperor, his ancient eyes calm but alert.

Fang Wu had already ordered the Elders to remain in seclusion during this event.

"This is no time for crowding," he had said.

"If the Ancestor truly descends, he will not wish to be greeted by a thousand faces."

Though many had protested, they eventually relented. After all, to even witness the Ancestor’s descent even through a vision — was a privilege beyond measure, at last in the lower realm.

Now, the two men stood in silence, watching as the light grew ever more intense.

Then, suddenly—

The world froze.

Time itself seemed to halt, and both were pulled into a realm of pure illusion.

When they opened their eyes, they found themselves standing upon a tranquil plain beneath a sky of nine blazing suns.

In front of them, beside a small pond, sat an ordinary man. His face was obscured.

He held a simple fishing rod, line cast into the still waters, as though the fate of the universe was nothing more than a fish to be patiently caught. But the odd thing was, that the pond looked like a replica of the Mini Sect Realm.

Behind him stood another man — a middle-aged figure with gray hair and lifeless gray eyes, his aura calm yet unfathomably deep. His mere presence seemed to weigh upon reality itself.

When Fang Wu and Wuji saw him, their expressions changed instantly.

That man was someone they both recognized — a living legend of the sect.

The Grand Elder, Baotian.

The two immediately bowed, their voices steady but respectful.

"We greet the Martial Ancestor. We greet the Grand Elder Baotian."

Before them sat the founder of their Peak — the man whose name alone commanded the reverence of millions of Immortals across realms.

The Martial Ancestor, now a fisherman of fate, smiled faintly as the ripples in the pond deepened.

Baotian, the Grand Elder, turned slightly, his gray eyes softening as they fell upon Wuji.

"Wuji, it seems your strength has improved," he said, his tone steady yet nostalgic.

"How many years has it been since we last met?"

Wuji clasped his hands and bowed deeper.

"Grand Elder, I believe more than three hundred thousand years have passed since our last meeting. You are still strong as ever."

Baotian let out a low chuckle.

"And you, brat," he said, shifting his gaze toward Fang Wu, "it seems you’ve finally achieved your dream of becoming Peak Master."

Fang Wu straightened slightly, pride flickering beneath his humility.

"It’s all thanks to your blessings, Grand Elder."

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke carefully.

"Ancestor, I have a question... may I ask?"

Baotian’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked toward the serene figure fishing by the pond. Clearly, he already knew the question.

The Martial Ancestor spoke before Fang Wu could continue. His voice was calm — almost too calm.

"You wish to ask why I have chosen to seek an inheritor for my legacy only now."

Fang Wu nodded solemnly.

"Yes, Ancestor. Were there truly no one worthy in the previous eras?"

The Ancestor gave a small, almost wistful smile.

"No, there were many with the strength and qualifications," he said, still gazing at the pond as his fishing line rippled through the water.

"But they lacked the character I sought."

He paused, the stillness stretching for a moment too long.

"Something has changed," he continued at last.

"A shift in the weave of destiny. I sensed it, the thread of my true inheritor has appeared again... and that thread lies in the lower realms."

His words carried a weight that pressed against their very souls.

"I had calculated that such a destiny would not appear for at least ten thousand more years,"

he said with a faint sigh, "but who can predict the machinations of the heavens? They move in ways even I cannot foresee."

His gaze turned faintly distant — neither proud nor sorrowful, but profoundly ancient.

"And you know well what my race is. Not everyone can bear the burden of my legacy nor do I want to force someone."

Baotian finally spoke, his tone as calm and lifeless as still water.

"But Ancestor, why now? If you had only commanded, I would have brought forth thousands of talents worthy of your inheritance."

The Martial Ancestor exhaled softly. The sound was quiet, but it carried weight.

"Talent alone, is never enough." he said, shaking his head.

Then, after a long pause, his tone deepened.

"But tell me," he continued, "how can you be sure the one destined to inherit my legacy is not weak willed or malicious toward the sect?"

The calm surface of the pond quivered, as if reacting to his words. The golden ripples shimmered like molten light under the nine suns.

"And more importantly," the Ancestor said slowly, each word echoing like thunder through the illusionary realm, "can this inheritor bear the hatred of the Heavenly Demons that comes with this legacy of mine?"